


ATTACHED MEANT

by mabb5



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 136,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabb5/pseuds/mabb5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choices and Changes. Jean-Luc Picard had weathered many decisions over the years. And now, he had to accept Beverly's choice when she walked away from him after the events on KesPrytt. As he considered his choices, he remembered how it all had begun. How he had become the captain of the Enterprise. And how he had assembled the extraordinary crew for his new ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Though there is sex and language, none of it is too graphic.
> 
> This is definitely a/u. The first part of this story was written about 15 years ago, but was never really published other than in a small run fanzine. I am expanding the story lines as well as the plot.
> 
> This A/U has nothing to do with the universes that I created in my two novels, THE BEST LAID PLANS and THE SKY IS THE LIMIT. It is a stand alone A/U.
> 
> As always, comments would be appreciated.
> 
> The usual disclaimers apply.

ATTACHED MEANT

Merde.

What an ass he had been. His misjudgment of Beverly's feelings, through his own self-centered idiocy, had created a troublesome situation between the lady and himself.

Jean-Luc Picard was not a happy man.

Automatically moving about his quarters, blowing out the scattered candles, he reviewed the evening's events. Jean-Luc would have sworn that Beverly had been flirting with him during their dinner. He was a Frenchman, after all. He had a certain instinctive wisdom of feminine wiles that decades of connoisseurship had refined.

Yet, afterwards, it was as if she had changed her mind. Had it been his words - or the poverty of them? He had chosen a heedful path, with the careful, bloodless words of a diplomat. He had assumed - especially after the KesPrytt bonding - that there was an understanding between them.

Why hadn't he spoken the words of his heart? Why hadn't he said aloud the passionate phrases that could have lit a star fire burning within his beloved's soul? His brother Robert had always contended that the blood of Francois Villon ran through their veins. Why had he deliberately chosen not to use the lyrical words of romance to woo her? He certainly was capable of creating them. But he had not.

Merde.

Now, Beverly would not be comfortable around him. Oh, their professional behavior would be exemplary as always; that was a given. But what harm had he done to their friendship?

He wanted Beverly as a lover. But he needed her most as a friend. He prayed that their friendship would survive his foolishness.

Would she ever even have breakfast with him again?

He glanced about his quarters, barely noticing the remnants of the candle smoke eddying about the air currents.

He was alone. Again.

Bereft.

Every single individual on board the Enterprise saw him as captain. Even those officers he considered to be close friends still saw him as their captain first. Few needed, much less sought the man. He allowed himself a bathetic moment.

His life was so formal, predictable.

Would anyone ever love him like Eline had?

Would Beverly?

He froze. The ever-constant siren call of the stars was ignored as he looked out his star portal with eyes that did not see.

When had he started equating his feelings for Eline with his emotions for Beverly? A few moments passed before he extinguished the final candle, praying that this was not a symbolic gesture as well. Q had taught him not to regret his past mistakes, yet he had to consider his miscalculations.

Had the price of a captain's chair been too high?

He went into his bedroom and reverently picked up the unopened bottle of Château Picard champagne - the '37. His plans for this wine no longer existed. But, he still held the bottle. He studied the label. Once, he had drunk a bottle of this vintage alone. Should he do so, tonight? He recalled that other night - another night filled with introspection, anticipation and transition.

He remembered…


	2. ATTACHED MEANT: HIS MEMORIES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Yes. I know that eleven years happened between postings from the STARGAZER to the ENTERPRISE for Picard. And in this story it is barely a year. However, when I wrote this, the time gap had not really been established in the book time lines. And this is an A/U novel after all...

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Merde.

Admiral Winston Holt Wiley wanted to see him.

Now.

Barely glancing at the crewman, 2nd class, that had delivered this imperative from the admiral in person, Jean-Luc Picard placed his half-empty mug on the bar table. There was a slight clink; the liquid inside the mug sloshed about the crazed sides. It was a mud-murky drink that this Bonnestal café near Starbase Earhart inaccurately described as English Breakfast tea. The clink was the only indication of Captain Picard's disapprobation to the admiral's command.

The former captain of the Stargazer stood, with an almost negligible motion of his fingers toward the entrance to the restaurant; his single sign of acknowledgment of the admiral's command. Picard pulled his invisible mantle of reputation about him, tugged at his red tunic's lapel closure to ensure its proper regulation position, and turned to face them all - all of the other patrons of the café. He withstood the gauntlet of accusatory stares from his fellow officers. Years of uncompromising discipline lent strength to his parade-worthy stride, as he marched out of the café, with his gaze focused on only the Starfleet Command Center building across the plaza. As he had for many months past, he ignored them all, reminding himself that he had been exonerated by the court martial judges. No other opinions mattered.

But, Jean-Luc Picard was only human. He couldn't help but speculate about the remnants of his Starfleet career. He had once been a starship captain; now he was a captain who had lost his starship.

He'd been peremptorily summoned to meet with the Fleet Admiral of Starfleet. He did not need to be an energetic participant in the games of Starfleet politics in order to recognize his precarious status. Jean-Luc knew that there were a number of admirals that had wanted him to be court-martialed, or, as the very least, demoted. And certainly his acquittal had not changed that sentiment. Jean-Luc Picard tried to envision himself as the captain of a supply barge - and rejected that thought. He knew in his heart that his ego would not permit himself to accept the indignity of a position that was not approximately equal to that of Captain of the Stargazer.

A shaft of pain struck his heart at the thought of his lost ship…

The Stargazer…

He should have done more, been braver, been smarter… 

Entering command headquarters, he presented himself to Admiral Winston Holt Wiley's personal assistant, Ensign Montgomery. After the ensign duly allowed Picard to sit and wait for the appropriate senior-officer-to-junior-officer period of intimidation, Picard was escorted into Admiral Wiley's office.

Undaunted, Picard entered, ready to meet the Admiral head-on. But that was not this admiral's way. The office was empty. The next thing that Picard noted was that a small table had been set for a formal luncheon for two. Crystal glinted from candlelight. He had considered several aspects to this meeting with Wiley. Sharing a meal had not been one of them. He began to relax until the thought occurred that this could be the admiral's civilized way of drop-kicking him out the door of journeying through the stars and into the mire of bureaucracy.

He comforted himself with the thought that at least tar and feathers were no longer an official option.

After the appropriate intimidation minutes had passed for the head of the Admiralty was known for enjoying such things, Winston Holt Wiley entered, resplendent in a uniform of his own design. A wiry man with an energetic intensity that belied his appellation of elder statesman of the admiralty, he was one of the few Starfleet officials over whom Captain Picard could tower.

"Jean-Luc!" The admiral's smile was congenial, welcoming, and revealing nothing.

Picard shook the admiral's hand, hiding his surprise at the strength of this old man's grip. "Admiral, you are well, I trust."

"Well enough to take a shore leave on Rigel II and maybe even let some of those fancy fanny dancers catch me!" Thinking that he detected a slight disapproving look to Picard's gaze, the admiral added," You should have tried Rigel II sometimes, Jean-Luc, instead of all of those dusty old Ikonian caves on god-forsaken planets through which you like to traipse. Some of the other admirals might've had second thoughts about the kind of man you are if you had preferred juicy revelry to dry dust."

Having nothing to say to this, Picard simply followed where the admiral led.

The admiral sat behind his desk.

Antique. Louis XIV style. Overdressed in bronze d'ore ormolu with masks of le Roi-Soleil on every festoon. Satinwood, kingswood and fruitwood floral inlays covered virtually every square centimeter of the wood surface. Like the man it represented, the desk was ostentatious, rare, deeply intricate and the center of attention.

The desk in the center of this opulent office was the exact opposite of Picard's own personal taste. Yet, glancing about the room, Picard had to admire the office and the man. For Winston Holt Wiley had guided Starfleet through the worst of times and survived. He was entitled to the ostentation if he so wished.

Picard sat on the bergere chair in front of the desk.

Silence passed.

A lesser man would have fidgeted. Picard merely observed the crystal antique paperweights positioned about the desk, mentally trying to identify the age of each one, and which were by Clichy, Baccarat or Saint Louis. He suspected that Wiley would only collect original 19th century paperweights rather than the newer reproductions.

As the silent moments passed, Wiley flushed in annoyance. He barked, "Well, ask!"

Picard took a steadying breath before answering. Then he spoke with the deference due to the admiral and his accomplishments. "Now that the court martial trial is over, have I a position?"

"Where would you like to be posted?" Wiley countered, displaying whitened teeth in a grimace that could pass for a smile.

"A ship, if possible." Picard smiled too - giving away nothing.

Two could play this game.

"There are a few available. Though none are of equal status to the Stargazer." Wiley enjoyed toying with his officers; one of the privileges that he considered due to him because of his rank. And toying with Picard was a rare treat, indeed.

Picard winced. "I know, Sir." But he was not one to be timid. "I hear that the Lord Nelson will become available since Captain Monroe is retiring. The Lord Nelson is not the Stargazer, but still, I'd be a good captain for her."

Admiral Winston Holt Wiley's smile tightened. "I've always admired some of your personality traits, Jean-Luc. Your knowing when to be fearless is one of them."

Picard tried to ignore the impression that the admiral wasn't just being polite. His tonal inflection indicated otherwise.

"Thank you, Admiral." Picard's smile was courteous.

Wiley's smile turned into something more than mere politeness. "You'll owe me more than thanks Captain, when you learn of your next assignment." He took a few deep breaths watching the captain not squirm, before he added, "You see, I've decided to assign you to my personal staff and office, back on Earth." He was having fun torturing this captain. Wiley continued. "You'll have your own office, personnel and every accoutrement that such an important position necessitates." The admiral pretended to ignore the momentary look of dismay that crossed over Picard's visage. "I'd even promote you - make you a Commodore," he added, just for fun.

But Picard's emotionless mask slipped back into place. He'd no longer rise to the admiral's baiting.

"I see," Picard finally stated.

Wiley's grin was too-knowing. "I'm sure that you do." Wiley stretched, savoring the moment, then asked, non-committally, "By the way, Jean-Luc, do you remember your freshman year at the Academy? You made quite an impression on all of us on the academic review board. Especially Nechayev."

"Of course, Sir." Picard remembered his run-ins with Nechayev. His polite smile did not alter, even as he recollected the first time she'd put him on report.

Wiley had a suspicion as to what Picard was remembering. His smile officially broadened. "I've got a vid that I'd like you to see. I made it back then - review board of the class of '23."

"Sir?" Picard was now officially puzzled. What did ancient history have to do with today?

"Watch. You might find it informative."

Picard noted that Wiley's tone of voice was benign. Now, he was worried.

Wiley pressed a button.

..."He did win the marathon. And his grades are excellent," Admiral Grant countered to Captain Nechayev's opposition. "He is a fine cadet. What is your problem with Cadet Picard, Captain?"

"He is an arrogant, undisciplined rake. He's rowdy. Disrespectful. He will never become an exemplary Starfleet officer. One more major infraction and he should be kicked out of the Academy."

Lieutenant Nakamura quickly defended this cadet. "He's an exemplary cadet. When he's on duty, there is no one better."

Winston spoke up. "Do you want to know what I really think about Cadet Picard?"

The entire board could do nothing but nod.. Then knew when to accede to Winston Holt Wiley's opinion.

"If he learns how to manage his emotions, if he acquires rigid self-discipline, yet still can control and recognize that he's got the command ambition, brains and instincts of a Kirk…" The admiral ruminated for a minute, waiting for the perfect moment to make his dramatic announcement. "If Jean-Luc Picard can do all that - then one day, Jean-Luc Picard will be the captain of the flagship of our fleet - The Enterprise."...

Wiley reached over and shut off the screen.

It was not often that Jean-Luc Picard was taken by complete surprise, but Winston Holt Wiley had done it. Picard ruefully acknowledged this when he raised his grey-green eyes to meet Wiley's amused brown-eyed gaze. Picard's stare held a hint of admiration - and concession.

"You do mean… the Enterprise?"

"1701-D. Soon to be commissioned in about eight months. And that's how much time you have, Captain, to assemble your crew."

"Crew?"

"Let's have lunch and discuss it."

Wiley walked over to the oak Provincial harvest table. Picard looked down at the Jean Payout Limoges china, the Christofle silver, and the Baccarat crystal. A tureen of soup. Freshly baked baguettes. And Picard suddenly recognized that Wiley had planned this luncheon with his own French ancestry in mind. He didn't know whether to be flattered or dismayed. Admirals didn't do this sort of thing just out of the goodness of their own hearts. Wiley was expecting something.

A silent yeoman ladled soup and poured wine as the two officers sat down to eat.

"It seems that I was a bit of a Delphinian oracle, way back then," Wiley commented, as a still somewhat shocked Picard placed an ecru cutwork linen napkin upon his lap. "There was something about you, then, that reminded me of another captain of the Enterprise - James Tiberius Kirk. If you did not self-destruct, you had what it takes." He waved his hand to stop Picard from speaking. "Yes, your command styles are different. But you are more alike than not. You're both cut from the same starship captain bolt of cloth. It's your destiny."

"Thank you, Sir." Picard wasn't quite sure that Wiley was paying him a compliment.

It was the first time that Picard would be compared to a legend. It would not be the last.

"The desk job is temporary, Jean-Luc." He chomped into a baguette then added, "I prefer to be called Holt. You have my permission to call me that when we are not in formal situations."

"Thank you, Holt." Picard spoke cautiously. Wiley's machinations were legendary.

"I honestly can't recall any other Starfleet captain being given your opportunity, Jean-Luc," Wiley casually mentioned as he slurped his morel consommé d'Arragon.

"Which is?"

"Chance to hand pick every member of your crew - no admiralty interference."

"Every member?" Picard found it hard to believe that he would be given such carte blanche. The territorial nature of command choices and paybacks was a universal constant.

"Captain, your orders are to pick the finest, the best and the brightest crew for the flagship. These orders take priority over all other posting orders. You are to assemble such a crew to your satisfaction. Do it. You are also to proceed with discretion. Sooner or later the announcement of your appointment will become public knowledge. I would prefer that it be the latter." He studied the man seated before him. "You know, of course, that several admirals are dead set against you. Some wanted your head on the proverbial silver platter. You'll have to convince me again, not to give it to them."

Picard nodded, perceiving the political dynamics.

Wiley returned to business. "You were my original choice for captaincy of the Enterprise. But, when some of the other admirals arranged for your court martial to intervene, they promoted Captain Thomas Halloway. It's only by chance that Tom's family situation forced him to refuse the position. Good luck for you, Jean-Luc. And thank the stars that you were exonerated."

Picard sipped his Pinot-gris d'Alsace wine, trying to comprehend all of the permutations. And appreciate the fine wine.

"Once you were acquitted, I prevailed. I want you in place before all of the opposition finds out about it. Be as cautious as you can in recruiting. I'll give you my personal authorization codes."

Picard was very select with his choice of words. "And just exactly how am I to approach these officers?" He ate a spoonful of soup and noted the delicate flavors of the consommé. This was not replicated. Rank certainly did have its privileges, including one's own chef.

The admiral pontificated. "I hold a certain position in Starfleet. If certain parties were to become aware of the scope of this position, I would be besieged. And this is not best for me."

"Or, for Starfleet," Picard respectfully, dryly added.

"Jean-Luc, you'll be dealing not just with Starfleet officers, but with the non-coms as well as the civilian personnel. And then, of course, there are the families. And the children." Wiley waited for Picard's reaction.

For a moment, Picard closed his eyes. Apparently the years of rumors were finally becoming true. "Families? Children?" His voice was steady even as he spat these words out.

"A new standing order from Starfleet Command. Ships of a certain class or larger will allow the placement of families - pah! - on board. You will have over one thousand officers, crew, civilians, and spouses on board your ship, Jean-Luc. Starfleet wants to announce to the galaxies that our new ships are more than military vessels. Instead, the main purpose of the galaxy class starships is for scientific research and exploration. Imagine, sticky little fingers on board my new starship!" Wiley shuddered.

"My starship," Picard amended under his breath. Wiley chose to ignore this statement, silently granting Picard the right to be possessive.

"As for me, I'm going to use as my flagship, any vessel that is small enough in compliment so that it won't have children on board." His tone of voice seemed to indicate that children were a plague unto the admiral.

Picard sympathized. But there were matters of importance to be discussed. "I will have full control over the choice of my crew - especially my senior line officers?"

"Of course, Jean-Luc." Wiley ripped up some more bread and sopped up some soup. "But there will be two exceptions."

Picard knew that the original offer was too good to be true. "Of course, Holt. And they are?"

"There is a Klingon in Starfleet. Do you know of him?"

"A junior lieutenant, I believe. Worf?"

"Yes. I like the idea of the only Klingon to ever go through the Academy serving on board the flagship."

"I'll agree to the lieutenant - only if I find him acceptable to me."

The admiral chuckled, conceding to the steel in Picard's voice and grudgingly agreed. "I appreciate your position, Captain." He still emphasized the word Captain.

Picard was somewhat appeased. "And the other person?"

"Dr. Beverly Crusher."

Picard quickly glanced toward the base lights that were visible through a wall of windows. But his reaction was not discreet enough. Wiley noticed.

"You have a problem with my choice, Captain? Do you have something personal against Dr. Beverly Crusher?"

"I would prefer to choose my own CMO."

"I like Beverly. Use her as my personal physician when I am on Earth. Don't care for the company of doctors myself, but when you have to suffer them, why not pick one who is beautiful and brilliant. She's been a damn fine CMO wherever she's been posted. And she deserves it, after what she's been through."

A silent yeoman approached the table and removed the soup plates. Another yeoman carefully served the fish course. It was some sort of salmon dish. Picard ignored it.

Picard decided to be stubborn. "Still, I would prefer to choose someone else, Holt," he countered.

Winston's eyes lit up before he responded. "So, it's true then." He ate a morsel of fish. "You were lovers."

The inquiry was not quite innocent. The reaction was not quite professional.

"No!"

From the Admiral's response, Picard knew how sizable was his over-reaction. "She was the wife of my best friend…" He let his voice trail off. "I had to bring Jack's body back to her. I was the man who ordered her husband to his death…"

"Does she blame you?"

"I don't know." He looked away from Holt's too inquisitive stare. "I haven't seen her since the funeral."

Wiley nodded. "You still carry the guilt?"

"Yes."

"Get over it, Captain." Suddenly, Winston Holt Wiley reverted back into the head of Starfleet Command.

"What?"

"Your objection will be duly noted. However, I will not tolerate any captain under my command who cannot separate personal feelings from his duty. Do I make myself clear, Captain?"

Picard took a deep breath, silently wondered why the gods were determined to torment him so, and reluctantly decided not to press his luck with this cantankerous admiral.

"Dr. Crusher will make a commendable CMO. Shall I personally ask her?"

"Oh, yes." Wiley nodded. "I am glad that you understand, Jean-Luc. Now, go and get your crew." Wiley pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "I am not in the mood for dessert. Help yourself, if you are."

"Holt."

This halted the admiral's movements.

"Protocol requires that I address possible transfers with the commanding officers of the individuals involved. However, if I am to use discretion…?"

"I understand. If you approach one Starfleet captain openly, you approach them all - give or take a stellar minute. Covertly approach your individual choices ordering them into silence. You may use my authority. Impress upon them the serious nature of your interrogation. You may recruit from all of Starfleet. As I told you, I want the best for the flagship. Manipulate as you wish." Winston Holt Wiley nodded at his choice before walking a few steps. "I trust your judgment, Jean-Luc." He went to the door and then whipped around and glared at Picard. "And if you do me a disservice, if you cause me to question my original judgment, you will dearly wish that you had proffered your resignation today." With that, he exited, leaving behind a captain pondering the vagaries of fate and fish.

Ensign Montgomery, who had been so snooty and officious on the way in, was now the most proper of subordinates as he handed Captain Picard his authorization's padd on the way out.

Picard was now empowered, and the heady rush that enveloped him, was intoxicating. Few occasions in life would ever equal this momentous hour in his life. Picard welcomed the unfamiliar joie de vivre. He'd not been expecting to experience such a feeling after a visit with Admiral Wiley.

That night, he uncorked a precious bottle of the Château Picard '37 in his quarters. He gazed at the stars through his window, and toasted, with his every sip, his new inamorata - a starship named Enterprise. His Enterprise. This night he contemplated the questions of his life and the universe, and decided that he'd finally found some answers. He'd achieved his life's goal. But, it wasn't something that he could share with his brother Robert. For a brief moment, the captain considered that there was no one else in his life with whom he could share such news…

A few days later, he approached the central office of Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. The receptionist politely smiled at him and then looked down at his padd. "Ah yes, Captain Picard. You are assigned to the south quad, Asimov tower, suite 1101. You have the entire eleventh floor." He glanced at another padd. "When will your staff be arriving, Captain? You've been given a total of twelve suites."

Picard thought for a moment. "Most of my staff is being reassigned to me. Their arrival times will vary. In the mean time, prepare my suites."

"As you wish, Captain. May I establish the basic personnel?"

"Meaning?"

"Receptionists. Data specialists. Personal assistants. File clerks. Etcetera."

"Of course. Proceed."

Picard entered his offices and was impressed by the level of political intrigue that Admiral Winston Holt Wiley was playing. The suites were decidedly spacious. As he wandered about, Picard decided that they went beyond Risian luxury. Wiley had meant to make a statement about Picard's status in his offices, and he had made this point with extravagant palatial decor.

Picard investigated, and immediately ordered the removal of all purple velvet and anything covered with metallic upholstery.

What was left behind was rouge breche d'alep marble atop Brazilian flame mahogany and rosewood furniture. Since Picard couldn't really order the removal of all the massive Louis XIV style furniture, to any great extent, he decided to at least learn to minimize the ostentatious design of the décor.

However, when he finally discovered the inner sanctum that had been assigned to him, he ordered the desk that was smaller but almost identical to Admiral Wiley's desk to be removed. He was not going to spend the next few months staring at bronze frolicking putti with flowers in their hair. Instead, he eventually chose a simple Louis XV style oak vintner's table as his desk. And a matching side table. He didn't realize that the desk he had chosen was almost identical to the one that his father had once used.

Picard was not exactly surprised to discover that a captain's yacht had been assigned to him. He could go anywhere at warp nine, with little to no monitoring. He was flying with an admiral's credentials, now. No one would dare question Picard's actions. Winston Holt Wiley had truly meant his warnings.

Picard's first stop was a return to Starbase Earhart. Lt. Worf was due there on the morrow, and he was indeed the first officer that Picard intended to evaluate.

Picard had spent several hours assessing Worf's record from his days as a cadet to his service on the Hawk. Picard came to the conclusion that he needed to meet and get to know the man. Worf's previous commanding officers had nothing but praise for this Klingon officer, yet his promotions did not correspond to their commendations. Picard wanted to understand why before he approved of the Klingon lieutenant for the Enterprise.

Picard strolled the promenade of the starbase, recollecting Nausicaans and recalling what it was like to be young. Stupid. Full of ambition. To be an ensign. Now he was back - as a captain.

His emotions were ambivalent even as he entered a well-remembered gaming palace. It had not changed much at all. There were echoes of his youth that compelled him to sit in a corner and observe the crowd through the perpetual smoky mist of the bar. He found a secluded chair and ordered a Bajoran spring ale. There was no synthehol to be found in this particular den of gambling iniquity where he'd lost his natural heart.

She was blond. She was slender. She was Starfleet, even though she wasn't in uniform. She was also scanning the crowd until her gaze settled on a group of uniformed officers that had apparently been celebrating for some time.

And Picard knew that he'd seen her somewhere before. It would be only later on, when he reviewed her record that he would place when and where, on a Carnelian minefield, some time ago.

She moved toward the group of officers. So did a Klingon pilot. The Klingon warrior challenged the senior officer of the group, a Captain Farley. Farley was a large man, with dark curly grey hair, and a permanent dissatisfied look in his eye. As he lifted up his glass, it slipped, splashing beer on the Klingon. The Klingon took umbrage.

"Do you arm wrestle, Hu-Man?"

The slightly drunken Captain Farley started to respond.

The blond stepped in front of the man she was forced to call captain, and yelled, "Yes. I do, Klingon!"

The Klingon hid his surprise at this female's bold actions. He almost favorably compared this woman to his own Bondmate. She had the same ferocious look in her eye.

"I am challenging your Master!" he roared.

"I am my captain's tactical officer, on board the Ellison! I defend his honor. You are challenging me!"

"No." The Klingon glanced around the room for support. However brave this human female was, she was still a human female. And a fool. And there was no honor in fighting fools.

"No guramba, Klingon?" a very big and very surly Nausicaan called out from the other side of the bar. He was tickled at the chance to insult a Klingon.

The Klingon glanced over at the Nausicaan, and then turned back toward the Starfleet officers. "You are female," he announced as if that would explain why he would not fight.

Farley started to move forward, but was stopped by his first office who whispered loud enough for even Picard to hear, "Let Yar wrestle the Klingon, Captain. Maybe that will take her arrogant ass down a notch or two." Farley nodded in agreement.

Picard was shocked by both the words and the attitude of the officers from the Ellison. He certainly would never have treated a member of his crew with such public disrespect.

"I do not suffer females," the Klingon informed Yar.

"I'll wrestle you, female," the Nausicaan suddenly boomed. "I enjoy playing with what I conquer."

Tasha's smile was blinding as she sauntered over to the Nausicaan, patted his chest, then grabbed his blood ale, and took a big swig out of it before she placed the tankard back on the bar. "I do too, Nausicaan. However, I don't think that Starfleet would let me play with a Nausicaan on board my ship. Pity. I've heard such interesting things about Nausicaans and their stamina." She glanced back at the bristling Klingon. "Teach me how to play Dom-Jot after I defeat the Klingon."

Picard tensed, knowing that the Nausicaan could take the woman's words seriously. But the Nausicaan threw back his head and laughed loudly, rattling the rafters.

"Woman, you have guramba!" He glanced over at his companions. They roared too. And then the Nausicaan handed Yar his ale. This time she finished it, before she walked over to a table that hadn't been thoroughly cleaned since Picard was an ensign, and assumed the challenge position. The Klingon didn't have a choice. If the Nausicaan was willing to fight her, then his honor dictated that he would have to fight her too. He accepted her dare.

Less than twenty seconds later, with the sound of Nausicaan laughter ringing about the rafters, the defeated Klingon scurried from the bar, cursing aloud about a slippery table top.

Picard was impressed. Quietly, he went over to the barkeep and placed a stack of credits down on the bar, which was apparently the only almost non-sticky surface in the place.

"Who is she?"

The barkeep had already heard about this bald man. Starfleet had given him an office on the station. And the crew of the Ellison was only passing through. They'd already caused enough problems over the past few days.

"Ensign Tasha Yar, Sir. When I knew her she was a lieutenant before she joined the Ellison's crew. Don't know why there's bad blood between Yar and her captain." The barkeep glanced over to where Farley was ordering another round of drinks for his officers - except for Yar. "Don't care for that captain, much. He doesn't like to pay."

Picard shoved some more credits toward the man and nodded towards the Nausicaans. The barkeep grinned at the thought of a Starfleet officer buying Nausicaans a round of drinks. He took the money. With that, he moved away to get some drinks.

Then Picard did something that surprised even himself. He walked over to where Tasha Yar was standing, being virtually ignored by her fellow officers. She was trying so valiantly not to appear so alone.

"Well done."

She looked up, surprised by the intrusion.

"Well done," he repeated. And then he smiled. Her tactics in the handling of a potentially explosive situation had been impressive.

Tasha Yar didn't recognize this slender man in civilian dress, but she knew that he perceived more about the incident than had been obvious.

"Thank you."

And then she returned his smile.

For a brief moment, Picard was a man responding to a beautiful woman. And then he reverted to being a captain again, and courteously nodded to her as he left the bar.

Later that night, he contacted Captain Farley. The man was suspicious as he answered the hail. "Captain Picard?" His disdain for the former captain of the Stargazer was blatant.

"I am not court-martialed yet, Captain Farley." Picard's smile was officiously polite. "In fact, I've been assigned to Admiral Winston Holt Wiley's staff. I need a personal assistant there. And I'd rather like it to be Tasha Yar."

Farley considered his options, disliking the man but liking too much, the offer. "We should discuss this."

"Agreed. Shall we meet for drinks, say 1900 hours at the Bonnestal Facility?" When Farley agreed, Picard closed the line. He knew that he had Farley. He also knew that Yar had the potential to be of importance to his Enterprise. Other than Captain Farley's official opinion of Tasha Yar, her service file was impressive.

Wearing an olive silk shirt and tan breeches, Picard searched through the exponentially increasing smoky atmosphere until he finally located the corpulent, swarthy man that was Captain Farley. He duly noted two of Farley's officers standing ill at ease nearby their captain. Picard had a feeling that the captain would need their sober assistance to return to his ship.

Captain Farley stood as Picard approached. He was barely sober. "You want Yar?"

"I need a personal assistant. And Tasha Yar will do."

Farley sat. "Personal assistant, is it?" Farley glugged his beer.

Picard controlled his disgust. He resented the implications of Farley's tone of voice. But he played it for what it was worth. "Yes. Very personal. And as soon as possible." He added an extra inflection to his words.

Farley thought for a moment. Wiley's personal representative had to have power. After all, Picard had been acquitted by the court martial board. This man had powerful friends.

"A favor? In the future?" he suggested to Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc agreed.

"She'll be yours at 0800 hours."

Jean-Luc thanked the man, privately wondering how this man had ever achieved the rank of captain. He personally vowed to one day change that status.

At the appointed hour, Ensign Yar reported for duty. She waited in the front office. It was a typical Starfleet commander's office; functional, plain, grimy grey; interchangeable with a thousand such cubicles on at least fifty worlds.

Yar considered the office. Based on its style, her new commander was an unimportant cog bound to a bureaucratic wheel. Whoever her new commanding officer was, for Farley had neglected to mention his name when he kicked her off of his ship, was probably an incompetent officer passed over for promotion and then shuffled out of harm's way and into an inconsequential position.

Tasha sighed. Farley had finally succeeded. She was going to have to resign her commission. She was at the nadir of her career, now working for a petty bureaucrat at a minor posting.

She almost wished that she had filed the sexual harassment complaints against Farley. But Tasha's way had always been to deal with problems herself and not to go running to someone else to fix them. For the first time, she wished that she'd dealt with Farley differently.

An electronic summons told her to enter the next aging, neutrally decorated office. At one point some designer had thought that splashes of slate grey against dirty grey was an artistic statement that lent itself to the ambience of the room. It didn't.

Then the inner office door opened.

"Come in, Ensign."

She dutifully obeyed.

Her eyes focused on the man sitting behind a grey desk that had multiple chips to its surface.

"You!"

For a moment she revealed her surprise. And then she recollected her position. "Sorry, Sir. Ensign Yar reporting as ordered." She awaited his displeasure.

Standing stiffly at attention she waited for this officer to say something. He didn't. Instead, he studied her as she was surreptitiously studying him. He was wearing captain's pips. Which meant that he'd really screwed up his career if this ugly little office was the best he could show for achieving that rank.

Almost as if sensing what she was thinking, he permitted himself a ghost of a smile to cross over his lips. "At ease, Ensign."

She relaxed just a little bit.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard." He read the padd before him, intently scrutinizing its details about her career. "Why are you an ensign? You once were a lieutenant, junior grade. You have several impressive commendations for bravery, and, until you were assigned to Captain Farley's command, you had an estimable record. What happened? Why the demotion?"

"Captain Farley and I had a disagreement."

When nothing more was forthcoming, he ordered, "Explain."

"He disliked the way I rescued fellow crew members." Her tone was bleak, resigned.

Picard accepted her words. "Having read the details of that little incident, I can understand why he put you on report."

He looked up at her. And then suddenly tossed her a black, matte pip.

She quickly reacted but still had to scramble to catch it.

"Lieutenant." He was quite pronounced with his enunciation. "I don't think that I will consider Farley's opinion of you to be in any way similar to my point of view. Prove yourself to me, Lieutenant." He saw the confusion in her eyes. He motioned toward the sole chair in the room in front of his desk. And then he took pity on her.

"Lieutenant, I require your assistance."

She glanced about the office. And tried to control her shuddering. "I don't think I'd be a very good file clerk, Sir." She placed the pip by the edge of the desk.

"Why not?"

"I, uh, am afraid of paper cuts."

Picard stifled his laugh.

"Anyone who can challenge a Nausicaan has the guramba to survive paper cuts. I tried challenging a Nausicaan once - and lost, to my everlasting regret. Perhaps one day I'll tell you about it."

He glanced pointedly down at the pip on the desk. Then he stared at her.

There was something in his gaze that struck a responsive chord in her heart. A brief tendril of hope began to rise in her breast as she picked up the pip and put it on her collar.

"You're working for me now, Lieutenant Yar, as my personal assistant."

"What are my duties, sir?"

He relented, and did grant her a slight grin before speaking. "I need a crew."

"For what, sir?"

"For my ship."

She admirably hid her shock at his words. From the scuttlebutt that she'd heard about Picard, most thought that he would never walk the deck of his own command ever again.

He admired her restraint from asking the obvious question.

"The U.S.S. Enterprise, 1701-D."

She was awestruck. Rumors had abounded for years about the greatest starship to ever be built. And this man was her captain…

"You want me for the Enterprise?"

"I think that you'll do." Behind his stern visage, he almost smiled . "I'll even allow Nausicaans on board, at your convenience, whenever you feel the need," he teased.

"Whatever you say, Sir." She could not quite believe that he was speaking to her in such a manner. It belied all of the rumors that she'd heard about his legendary disciplinary style.

Surprisingly, Picard felt at ease with this officer, as if he had known her for years instead of less than a day. There was something about her that penetrated his usual cloak of reserve.

"Then, you will join my staff?"

At this moment, he'd won her allegiance.

"Captain, I am willing to serve you until the day I die."

"I trust that going to such an extreme will not be necessary," he gruffly exclaimed. But there was a part of him that recognized that she spoke the truth. He did not wish to be the recipient of such fervor, but he knew it went with being the captain of a star ship. It was part of the responsibilities of being the one in command.

"You will file reports, Lieutenant. You will be part of the bureaucratic process for the next few months until the ship is ready to be launched. You will help me choose the right personnel for the Enterprise." Picard paused for a few moments, assessing her reactions to his words. "When we are finished with all of Starfleet's bureaucratic demands, then we will be free to do what we really want. To boldly go…"

Her smile was beautiful as her eagerness and enthusiasm filled her soul. "Yes, Sir."

"I take it that you agree, Lt. Yar?"

"Oh yes, Sir."

Picard was silent for a moment. "May I drop the rank, Lieutenant?"

"Of course, Captain." Tasha tensed. What did this man need to know?

Picard picked up his tea cup off of the dingy laminate desk top. Speaking now as a man who just simply didn't like puzzles, he idly asked, "How did you know that you were going to defeat the Klingon with your arm wrestling? It's a rather unusual skill, even for a security officer."

Fond humor colored her voice as she explained, "I've had a very good Klingon warrior as a tutor. He's taught me every position and every trick. About arm wrestling, and in other areas too."

"I take it that you are referring to Lt. Worf?"

"Why yes, Sir. Do you know Lt. Worf?"

"I am considering him for a position on my staff."

By the light in her eyes, he knew that she considered this to be a terrific decision.

Tasha volunteered, "He'd make a wonderful Chief Security Officer."

He stifled his annoyance at her presumptiveness. "I have yet to choose the officer for that position. I am considering several possibilities. When next you see him, you may thank him for your change of posting."

He'd made up his mind. If Lt. Yar could consider Lt. Worf wonderful, then the Klingon was indeed a candidate as an officer for his ship. Now, he only had two hundred and forty two more Starfleet positions to fill.

By the tone of his voice, she suspected that she was dismissed.

Then, he added as if it were an afterthought, "Lt. Worf's ship is docking at 1230 hours. I will meet with him then. Join me." He thought of something else. "Admiral Winston Holt Wiley has ordered that we be very discreet in our recruitment of personnel. There will be no discussion of my assignment with anyone outside of my choices for the Enterprise, until the formal announcement is made by the Admiralty."

"Aye, sir." And then she smiled, her eyes shining as if lit by star power, absolutely thrilled by all of the future possibilities.

"Isn't it marvelous, Captain?"

"What?" Picard was startled by the intensity of her excitement.

"The Enterprise! We're going to serve aboard her!" Her smile was infectious.

And for a brief moment, he allowed himself to respond. Picard understood her mood. He'd been feeling it for days now. Her enthusiasm was catching.

"Yes, Lieutenant. It is our time now."


	3. THE TROUBLE WITH KLINGONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Luc meets Mr. Worf.

CHAPTER THREE: THE TROUBLE WITH KLINGONS...

 

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Worf warily eyed the glass tankard of gurgling magenta liquid before him. It did not look like Klingon blood wine. He took a sip. It did not taste like Klingon blood wine. He studied the glass. It was not exactly spotless. In fact, it was covered with a lot of unidentifiable blobs. It took a lot of grunge to get a Klingon to notice spots, and to wonder about his health and safety in drinking from such an unclean glass. Klingons had no wish to expire from unnecessary grunge. It wasn't considered to be an honorable death.

He glanced about the bar, noting the numerous Nausicaans playing Dom-Jot. He decided not to register a complaint with the barkeep. Normally, as a Klingon, he would enjoy crunching Nausicaans for lunch, rather than having to abide drinking near them. But, such a preference did not exactly conform to Starfleet's current policy.

This was an example of one of the many sacrifices he made in order to be an officer in Starfleet. However, it chaffed.

Then, the Klingon's countenance softened. He noted the approach of one of his favorite human females. A smile threatened when he realized that she was now wearing the rank of Lieutenant, Junior Grade. She had regained her rank. And he was pleased.

"Yar!"

From anyone else, it would have been described as a bellow. From Worf, it was merely a pleasant greeting.

Tasha approached him, flanked by a skinny, bald-headed man. Even if this man had not been in uniform, Worf immediately recognized a commanding presence. He stiffened automatically into attention, as he curtly nodded at the gentleman.

"I have heard of your great victory, Tasha Yar. Well done." He was visibly proud of her accomplishments. She was a worthy pupil.

"You're the one who taught me the tricks to arm wrestling Klingons, Worf." For a fleeting second she hugged him, and then stepped back.

Yar recognized the sense of pride that he felt. Though of different worlds and cultures, they were kin beneath the skin, members of the brotherhood of warriors who valued honor.

"You used guile, Yar. This is an admirable trait for any tactical officer."

"Really? That's an odd statement for a Klingon officer to make," Picard dryly observed as he stepped up to the Klingon. "By the way, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Lieutenant Worf." He extended his hand.

"You did not go down with your ship!" Worf hastily blurted. And then Worf realized what he had said aloud - and to whom.

There was silence between them for long, tension filled minutes. Picard dropped his arm.

And Picard began to comprehend the difficulties Worf's former commanding officers had in dealing with Mr. Worf. Intractable was one of the characterizational words that came to his mind. Picard doubted that it was only one of the many adjectives and adverbs that had been used in past evaluations of Worf. He was a challenge. Picard speculated as to whether or not he would be worth it.

Picard stared directly into Worf's eyes, steadily looking at the Klingon, never flinching.

"Batlh Daqawlu'taH Stargazer! Mr. Worf, I honor the memory of my ship. I consider myself honored to have known service on the Stargazer; to have been her captain. I will not apologize or defend my actions . I was the captain."

Hiding his surprise that this human spoke Klingon, and that Tasha Yar was with him, Mr. Worf considered the words said by this man. This officer at least seemed to understand the nuances of honor. Worf was willing to consider this man's words.

"Worf, Captain Picard would like to speak to you about a posting." Tasha was defensive of this man. That was a good omen.

"Then I will listen."

"Bring him to my office in fifteen minutes, Lieutenant," Picard ordered. Then he left them.

Worf's only response was to grimace. Though inwardly he was pleased to be in her company again.

"Captain Picard has a ship, Worf. And I want both of us to be on it."

They slowly walked towards Picard's temporary offices.

"What kind of ship would Starfleet offer him?" For Worf had heard the rumors.

"You'll be surprised, Worf. You'll be surprised." She impishly grinned up at him. "And then, you'll be excited."

Worf snorted.

=/\=

Two weeks later, after visiting his parents on Earth, Worf reported for duty at Starfleet Command, the Asimov building.

"Captain."

The way Mr. Worf stated Picard's rank diverted him, as if Worf was not quite sure that Picard should still be a captain. Picard found that he was looking forward to serving with Mr. Worf. Picard always appreciated a challenge, and Mr. Worf was one extraordinaire.

Mr. Worf had yet to reach a personal decision about Jean-Luc Picard. He was civil to the officer - barely. His subordination to his captain was based upon his duty and his respect for Tasha Yar's opinion. He was still reserving his warrior's judgment on Captain Picard, the man.

Worf grunted in front of Picard's desk. It was covered with padds which Picard was busily perusing.

Picard did not look up. "What is it, Mr. Worf?"

"These suites. They are empty. We should fill them."

Picard looked up, puzzled by this suggestion, and especially puzzled since it was coming from this officer. He had not thought that appearances mattered to a Klingon. "Fill them with what, Lieutenant?"

Worf swept his arm about, indicating the suites, in a grand gesture. Worf's sweeping arm barely missed the nose of an original Barbidienne bronze of Mercury, the God of War. Worf didn't understand 19th century Terran art. But he did perceive the nobleness of this six foot sculpture.

Worf didn't want to admit that he had been impressed by the layout. Marble. Chrome. Rare natural woods. Crystal that gleamed with faceted fire. And metal works worthy of a Klingon smithy. The setting was impressive. So the people there in, should be too.

"Why?" Picard was taking Worf's observation totally seriously, studying the dark burly warrior before him.

"Starfleet gossip. Your missing staff - the empty rooms - these are things that have been noticed. You are supposed to be a high official on the staff of Admiral Wiley. You need to act like it. Admiral Wiley has a certain reputation for elaborateness that he maintains in all aspects of his domain. So, we need to fill these offices with…" Worf grunted in frustration, "…something! Otherwise, more gossip. I do not care for gossip." He nodded his head. He stepped closer to the desk and stared directly at Picard. "And I have observed that you do not care for such matters, too. But, in order to achieve our objective…"

The first thing Picard noted was that the Klingon was speaking in the plural. Whether he would openly admit it or not, he now considered himself to be part of Picard's support staff. Secondly, Picard knew that when he'd first seen these suites, he'd been impressed as well. Worf did have a point.

"Fill the suites, Mr. Worf. Find suitable temporary staff. Promise them nothing but the immediate, temporary job." He again considered the rooms he controlled. "And if any of the personnel should be up to my standard and appear to be promising, act upon it, Mr. Worf. Make it so."

"May I embellish?"

Picard wondered about Mr. Worf's choice of words, but refrained from commenting for any sign of interested cooperation from the Klingon was a step in the correct direction with this officer. He agreed.

Worf rumbled his response. He was pleased that Picard had taken his concern seriously. Most human officers had not taken his suggestions seriously, in the past.

Worf vowed that before the week was over, Captain Picard would have the same number of supernumeraries as Admiral Wiley had - less one. For it would never do to out-rival an admiral.

In the days that followed, Picard truly began to appreciate the qualities of his new, chosen staff. Within five days, every office was filled with people who seemed to have some purpose in life. Though what that purpose was, was beyond Picard's ken. The captain quickly discovered though, that his every wish was their command. And that there seemed to be competitions between the different groups as if even anticipating his commands was a challenge to be won amongst the suites.

But the amazing part began the day he walked into his remodelled suite. He'd spent five days at Utopia Planetia talking with an old friend about possible engineering staffing choices, as well as catching a quick glimpse of his new ship - without being obvious about it. When Picard had returned to Earth, and the Asimov, he discovered that the changes within his offices were many.

Picard arrived early before the scheduled duty start time, that day. Stepping into his outer office, the first thing he noticed was a tall, slender, seemingly ageless Vulcan standing in the doorway, as if he were some sort of palace guard.

"Do you have an appointment?" The Vulcan ensign raised an eyebrow as if to intimidate. The fact that he was almost a foot taller than Picard seemed to lend itself to an aura of general Vulcan superiority.

Picard looked at the Vulcan with almost an expression of disbelief. "I don't believe I had any appointments scheduled for this morning," was his icy reply.

"Shush, Rocky!" an annoyed feminine voice yelled from the doorway to his inner sanctum. "I thought you Vulcans always did your homework! This here is your new boss, Captain John Luke Pickerd." She anglicized the pronunciation of his name with precise enunciation.

Picard turned his head and examined the woman who stood in the doorway to his private office. She was shorter than him, wider than him, and had more hair than him. She had silver hair piled into a frizzy bun on top of her head. She was wearing an expertly cut grey business suit, a single strand of pearls, and pearl studs on her ears. And she smelled of lavender. She reminded him of his Aunt Adele… He instinctively knew that she was a force.

"I'm Mrs. Krebs." She strode over to the nonplussed Vulcan, who was still searching his brain for a logical explanation as to why he hadn't recognized his commanding officer. "This here Vulcan is Ensign S'Rock. I stole him away from Admiral Nakamura."

Picard raised an eyebrow even as the lady vigorously pumped his hand.

The lady grinned. "Woody just doesn't know it yet. He's off touring SB115 or some god-forsaken place like that. Anyway, one night I was playing poker with Woody, and he lost."

Picard raised both eyebrows. He'd played poker with Woody many times before, and Woody rarely lost.

"Woody had bet me a future favor. So, I took S'Rock." She stared at the Vulcan. And it was the Vulcan who broke their gaze, looking downward. "Guard the door, Rocky. Only let the good guys in." She turned her back on Picard and added, "Follow me. I've made a few changes to this museum." She motioned towards what once had been Picard's office.

Picard stopped on the door jamb, almost succeeding in hiding the look of surprise on his face. The whole room from the color of the amber walls to the ivory colored Oriental Kerman carpet on the floor was new. Another French Provincial style light oak bureau plat desk was in the center of the room. Built in bookcases along one wall were now filled with holophotos of unknown people. And they also displayed models of starships. His eyes widened as he realized that every model depicted a ship upon which he had once served. The Stargazer model was the largest. Small, crystal vases filled with fresh star lilies were scattered about different table tops. Against another wall was a large table bearing a silver tea service, and covered porcelain dishes. And a state-of-the-art communications and information center was kitty corner to the desk.

The lady nodded in the direction of a door by the bookcases. "That's your office now. I had engineering knock down a wall in order to connect this suite to the suite beyond. The hallway leads to your private suite. You've got a personal conference room, and then a small apartment complete with a bed and full bathroom for those nights when you decide to work late."

Picard opened the door and glanced at a room that now looked like a perfect office to him. "You did all of this in five days?"

"I know where the bodies are buried. I can get things done."

Mrs. Krebs walked past Picard and into his new office. "If there is anything you don't like, just let me know. I'll get it fixed."

Picard walked over to his desk, silently noting how all of the electronics were now integrated into the desk and a side table next to his office chair. Everything looked perfect.

He turned and faced the lady.

"Now, would you mind telling me who you are?"

"I'm Mildred Krebs. You can call me Millie or Krebbie, if you wish. But you'd better not mispronounce the latter."

"Who hired you?"

"Mr. Worf. That Klingon knew that I liked a challenge. So, here I am." She grinned. "I'm also Winnie's second cousin, once removed. Like I said, I know where all the bodies are buried. You're going to get exactly what you want when it comes to picking your crew or anything else for that matter, Captain. And anything that you can do to help me bedevil Winnie is just an added bonus."

Picard shook his head as he walked about the office inspecting everything. Then he went into the rooms down the hallway. His conference room was exactly what he would have wished it to be in tones of amber and rust- if someone had ever bothered to ask him what he wanted. He walked into his private apartment. The living room was done in cool tones of blue to grey. It had several comfortable looking sofas and chairs. Some pleasing-to-the-eye modern sculptures. It also had a table in it that suspiciously looked like a poker table.

"Winnie's got an apartment just like this one." Mrs. Krebs seemed to be a fount of information. "Except he has a separate kitchen. You've just got that kitchenette over there. Which reminds me, I've got to find you a chef."

Suddenly, things seemed to be getting out of hand. "I do not need a chef."

"Yes you do. If you're supposed to be a high mucky-muck on Winnie's staff, you're going to need a chef. If only to make a point to any admiral that might wander by to pester you. Don't worry, I'll find the right chef for you. Maybe I'll get a butler, too." She pointed towards another door. "That leads to a private gym for you and your senior staff. I got Mr. Worf to promise that he'll start teaching his Mok'bara classes again. You should take them."

Picard took a deep breath and sat down onto a rust upholstered overstuffed arm chair. For a second as he settled into the down-filled cushions, he was surprised by how comfortable it was. And then he saw the too-knowing look in Mrs. Kreb's eyes. This woman knew way to much about his personal tastes. How the hell had she accomplished it?

"You know too much about me, Mrs. Krebs. Whom did you blackmail?"

She cheerfully laughed, really beginning to like the way that this man thought. He was everything that Winnie said he was…

"I think we're going to get along just fine, Captain Picard." She patted his arm. " I don't need to actually blackmail anyone. I only just have to imply that I can blackmail someone. And things get done. We understand each other." She walked over to the office door. "I've got hot Earl Grey tea and fresh baked croissants with French butter and orange marmalade in the other room. Fresh strawberries too. Care for some?"

He rose, ruefully shaking his head. How could she possibly know what he preferred for breakfast? He suspected that he had just met an immutable force. He hoped that she was a force for good.

Turns out, Krebbie was.

In the days to come, he came to adore Krebbie - not that he would ever openly admit it. He was able to concentrate on what he needed to do for the Enterprise, and no longer had to worry about all of the unimportant things that Starfleet bureaucracy demanded. She even took care of all of the padd paperwork.

And as a an added bonus, Worf was always in a good mood when he was around Krebbie.

About a week later, Picard was expecting the return of Tasha Yar. She had gone to Starbase G-6, near Betazed, to watch the graduate students in Starfleet's advanced piloting program. She had picked several likely candidates that she was going to recommend to Captain Picard.

Tasha entered the offices and was approached by the coldly beautiful Vulcan male ensign.

"May I help you, Lieutenant?"

"I'm Lieutenant Tasha Yar."

The ensign checked his padd. "Ah, yes. Captain Picard is expecting you. He has ordered high tea. This way, please." He swiveled with the precision of an Olympic gymnast, and led Tasha Yar over to reception's inner room.

"Lieutenant Tasha Yar to see Captain Picard," he formally intoned to the red-haired yeoman seated behind a desk. "Yeoman, this is Lt. Yar."

"Yes, Sir," the very young yeoman perkily replied, flashing an overtly friendly grin.

Tasha inwardly grimaced. She really hated perkiness - until she caught the yeoman's glance. And then, she understood. The yeoman's excessive perkiness had a purpose. Anything to annoy the Vulcan. When the Vulcan left them, Tasha permitted herself a discerning grin. She extended her hand. "Yeoman, I'm Tasha Yar."

The yeoman shook Tasha's hand rather vigorously. "I'm Yeoman Ames. Cherry Ames." She glanced at the back of her retreating officer. "Pity he is one hundred percent Vulcan. He's got such a great…"

Tasha cut her off. "I noticed," as she too glanced backwards at the retreating Vulcan. The Vulcan was gorgeous…

Then Tasha wondered to herself where she'd seen this yeoman before. There was a familiarity about her grin. "Do I know you, Yeoman Ames?"

"Bardick Jones is my half-brother."

Tasha then remembered her graduation day with Bardick. And his family. "You poor dear," Tasha laughed. "You've got to be Bardy's bane of his existence…"

"The worst gingy sister in the entire universe. Bardy has never forgiven me for posting all of the pictures of him kissing his many girlfriends on his home page. He still hasn't figured out how I got the shots of him kissing his lady friends from his Academy days."

"How did you get them?" Tasha was curious because this yeoman had been a young teenager when Bardy was at the Academy. And she'd lived with her family in Milwaukee.

"I bribed his roommate. Long story."

Tasha was laughing now as she recalled certain embarrassing incidents with Bardy and his legion of lady friends during their years as cadets together. "You'll have to tell me over drinks some time when I can take a breather."

Cherry stood and walked away from her desk, straightening out the skirt to her yellow and black uniform. "One thing I have to know. Are you still single?"

Tasha sort of gasped, "What?"

"Whenever I see Bardy, he still keeps talking about you - even after all of these years. I've always thought that Bardy had a major crush on you during the Academy days. When he found out that I'd be working with you, he reminded me to remind you that you still owe him a dinner the next time you are in port - provided that you don't cook it." She archly added, "Bardy always said…"

"…That it would be the last meal he'd ever eat." Tasha giggled. "Only once did I burn the scrambled eggs. But do you think Bardy would ever let me forget it?"

"His memory is elephantine. But so is mine."

They both laughed together. Tasha fondly thought about Bardy. He was tall, dark and handsome. Had wavy black hair. And the world's most fabulous wicked grin. There'd never actually ever been anything romantic between them. They'd always been buddies. Yet…

"Please tell Bardy that I'm going to be here for a while. And that I expect him to give me a call if he wants a free meal."

Cherry grinned again. "I'll also tell him that he's buying…" She nodded towards the closed doors behind her. "He just got off his subspace call with Admiral Hanson. I can take you in now." Cherry guided Tasha into Picard's inner receptionist's office, done in tones of silver and blue. The furniture was in keeping with the style of the rooms that Tasha had seen so far - all understated simplicity bordering on elegance. She wondered how anyone could have rearranged these rooms so fast in only a few days. She got her answer when she met Krebbie.

"Mrs. Krebs," Cherry announced with enthusiasm, "this is Picard's Tasha Yar."

A cheery, bustling woman looked up from her stack of padds and smiled a friendly greeting, pleased to finally meet the lieutenant that brought such warmth to Picard's usually cool and unemotional voice whenever her name was mentioned. She studied the young woman before her. The determination in Yar's eyes bespoke her sense of duty.

Cherry continued. "Mildred Krebs is the Captain's personal assistant. The only way to get to the captain is through Mildred. Ghiradelli or Risian liqueur chocolates are acceptable bribes."

Tasha smiled her best intimidating smile. "I don't need bribes to see…" she breathed, wispily, "Jean-Luc." Then her voice hardened. "And I'll arm-wrestle anyone who says otherwise."

Instead of being deterred, Mildred laughed. "You're everything the Balding Eagle says you are. And I've heard about your arm wrestling abilities. Worf's blabbed to everybody who will listen about his protégé's talents."

Mildred stood, smoothed her ruby red dress, and opened the burled wood inner sanctum door. She found Picard putting away some books on his shelves near the door. She raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything aloud about her suspicion that he just might have been eavesdropping. Judging by the frosty, disinterested look he gave her, the possibility of his eavesdropping seemed highly improbable.

"Oh, you're good, Jean-Luc Picard," Mildred thought to herself. "I can actually learn some tricks from you…"

"She's finally here, Johnny," she cheerily announced. She saw him wince at her use of Woody Nakamura's nickname for him. And then she announced to Tasha, "The Krebs' family ancestors have a long, fine tradition of bedeviling their bosses be they private detectives or presidents of the Federation. Treating them with the amount of respect that they really deserve." Mildred pointed at an armchair. "Sit, honey. You've got to be exhausted from all of your traveling." Looking at Picard as he resumed his position behind his desk, she added, "Tasha's ship arrived at 0430." Glancing at the blond she added, "Arriving late is not conducive to one's beauty sleep. After you're done with him, maybe later on I'll show you some of my arm-wrestling techniques."

Picard choked, covering the sound with a cough at the mere thought of Mildred wrestling.

With that, she sent a glare that would have unnerved an ordinary captain, in Picard's direction. Then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Tasha looked about the office. The room was still opulent, but the style was now far more restrained and refined. The personality of this captain was beginning to emerge. There were plants in pots and flowers in vases. And on a credenza was a silver tray with chocolate chip cookies. She glanced at the cookies and then back at her captain. Did the man have hidden vices after all?

He caught her questioning look. Glared. Then he stiffly explained, "Mildred brought them in one day. I politely mentioned that they were good. So she brings them in now, almost every day." Picard was definitely a man who disdained most desserts. Chocolate chip cookies were most certainly not one of his ordinary vices.

Yar wondered what his personal preferences really were.

For a moment, Picard was lost in thought. Picard rarely experienced friendship with his officers. He considered such relationships to be a weak point pitted against the strength needed for command. Yet, there were always exceptions, and Tasha Yar was becoming one of them.

"Who eats them?"

"What?" Picard focused his thoughts away from the light in her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Worf." He glanced about the office. "Our Mr. Worf has decided to go one step beyond grandiose. He seems to have acquired the taste of a Starfleet fleet admiral." Then he recollected why Lt. Yar was reporting to him. "Report, Lieutenant. Jonathon Todd and Daniel Chalmers?"

"They are not suitable for the Enterprise's engineering department. Credentials are great but they seemed too lone wolfish. They didn't strike me as team players. Too wolfish, too. I never ever got a chance to discuss generalities with them. I had to demonstrate to one of them, a lesson that Mr. Worf had taught to me."

"I agree. I didn't think that they were right for the positions, but I had to be sure. When Admiral Wiley drops personnel discs on my desk, one does have to ascertain their worthiness for the Enterprise." He wearily sighed, and eyed another stack of discs that had mysteriously appeared over night on his desk. "And at G-6?"

"I have found six possible candidates. All are great pilots. They seemed to have the right spark in their eyes."

Picard knew what she meant. He'd review their files the first free moment he'd find.

Picard reached into a drawer, then flipped something towards Tasha.

She automatically caught it, paused to study the object for a moment, and then wondered if Captain Picard had a mean sense of humor. For the object that she had caught was a shiny mint pip. "Sir?" Her voice wavered and she didn't even care.

"Lieutenant, senior grade, you are now the new chief tactical officer of the Enterprise." He mildly added, after noting that Tasha's jaw had dropped a little, "That is, if you choose to accept the position, Tasha."

"Choose to accept…" She thought for a moment. "But what about Mr. Worf? He's more qualified that I am."

"Your loyalty is admirable, Lieutenant. But Lt. Worf is not completely adjusted to life as a Starfleet officer. He needs much more seasoning before I trust him in such an important position." Picard shook his head denying her unspoken protest. "I do trust Worf, Lieutenant. But, I've never been around him when he was at ease. I need a security chief that I can trust instinctively. Worf has yet to become comfortable around civilians too. And on board the Enterprise, he will have to learn how to deal with civilians, and not to just seemingly threaten them every time he speaks to one. He needs to learn patience. Diplomacy. You must teach him."

Tasha understood. "Yes, I'll teach him."

"Good. That's part of your new job description when you become the new tactical officer of the Enterprise."

Lieutenant, senior grade, could only grin at the sound of her new job title.

"Worf needs acclimating, and it's up to you to provide it." He smiled as he contemplated her expression of excitement over everything that he'd just said to her. "Mr. Worf has great potential as a Starfleet officer. I will do my best to see that he achieves it. And not just because he is the first Klingon officer in Starfleet. There's a nobility about him…"

"Yes, there is, Sir."

Picard examined the lieutenant seated before him, and made his decision. "Surely, you do not intend to remain a mere lieutenant the rest of your career, Lt. Yar?"

Tasha didn't know how to respond to this unexpected question. "Meaning, Sir?"

"I'd like to become your mentor, if you'll have me." It was the Starfleet way.

Tasha was shocked and honored. "Yes, Sir!"

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door and the door opening before Picard could even respond. S'Rock rolled into the room a tea cart. Both were silent as they watched with some amusement as S'Rock prepared the tea with the formality of style and grace of movement that would have rivaled a performance in any of Earth's surviving royal houses.

"Tea is served," S'Rock intoned, then backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Shall we?" Picard stood. Offering Tasha his arm, he escorted her over to a bleu de roi moiré silk upholstered recamier which had been a personal gift from Wiley, so Picard had been forced to keep it. Picard wasn't quite sure why Wiley thought that he should have a day bed in his office. 

"Someday, protocols might be altered enough for you to even call me by my first name, Lieutenant."

Picard poured two cups of Earl Grey. He lifted up his cup of tea as if in a toast. "The Enterprise, Lieutenant… Shall we hitch our wagon to a star?" (Emerson, CIVILIZATION)

She nodded in happy agreement.

He glanced over at a tiered tray laden with scones, Napoleons, croissants and butter biscuits. They were accompanied by a variety of jams and honey. He picked up a scone and spooned some brandied apricot jam onto a Limoges plate.

Tasha took a lot of everything.

Picard suddenly realized that evidently she'd come straight from disembarking to his office. "Shall I order some sandwiches, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, please." The terrors of her childhood had taught her long ago always to eat whenever one got the chance.

Picard added milk and sugar to Tasha's tea, as he mentally timed how long it would take S'Rock to appear with the food. It took less than two minutes.

Picard motioned for Tasha to help herself to more tea, for apparently she was very thirsty too.

Between mouthfuls, she asked, "Captain, why are you so sure?"

"About what?"

"Me. Worf."

Picard shook his head. "Ah, Lieutenant, knowing how to judge your crew, and how well you do it - that's one of the things that separates the lieutenants from the captains. One can be perfectly logical about command, but a starship captain should also have a gut instinct that he trusts - when it's logical to do so, of course."

She laughed, even as she finished off her second avocado and turkey sandwich.

"You had a gut instinct about me?"

"I am not psychic, Lieutenant, but I somehow sense, that for both of us, our duty means everything to us." She nodded as she reached for another biscuit.

"You're off duty for the rest of the day, Lieutenant. Go and get some sleep. I want you bright-eyed and beautiful tomorrow morning." He suddenly stiffened, as he realized what he had just said aloud.

On some level, she knew that he was interested in her as a woman. But she also knew that he would not do a thing about it, even if she had so indicated that she was interested in him as a man, too. Nothing would distract him from his duty - not even her. And she wasn't going to tempt him. At least, not on purpose.

She wasn't aware of the sadness to her smile, even as she stood. "Thank you for not dragging me to another Starfleet function tonight." She walked to the door. "Do you need me for anything else, Captain?"

"Uh, no, Lieutenant." He stiffly stood and returned to his desk with his cup of tea. "Dismissed."

"And thank you for the compliment," she softly whispered before she slipped out of the office, leaving a disconcerted captain in her wake.

About an hour later, Mr. Worf entered his office. "Sir, may I speak to you on a personal matter?"

Picard put down the tenth padd he'd been studying that morning. It seemed that even with all of his staff, his life still was a series of interruptions.

"Of course, Lt. Worf."

Worf tried to contain his uneasiness at having to ask a favor of a commanding officer of which he still was unsure. Though Krebbie's approval of the man was tipping the scales in the captain's favor somewhat.

When a Klingon gave his loyalty, it was a matter of honor. Worf stiffened even more before this superior officer. He was not comfortable around this man. Until he had made his decision about the captain's honor, dealing with the man on a daily basis was a trial. He stepped forward.

"As you may know, my adoptive parents now live on Earth. I wish to visit them if you will permit it."

He sounded so severe that Picard almost smiled. Then he pulled up his schedule on his padd. He studied it for a moment. "Mr. Worf, I have always considered it wise to never interfere with the personal lives of my staff, unless it effects their efficiency. Lt. Yar and I will be investigating a Lieutenant Deanna Troi for the next few days. She is quite an interesting Betazoid. However, I sincerely doubt if a Klingon warrior is necessary for an analysis of a lady born to a pacifistic race. And considering how well you have fulfilled your duties here…" He pointedly looked about the room. "…and how much leave you have accumulated, you may have your leave. Twenty-one days, if you wish it. Or more."

Worf became rigid. "Fourteen days is sufficient, Sir."

"Then, enjoy yourself, Lieutenant. I would one day like to meet your adoptive parents. I am sure that they have some rather interesting stories to tell."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Picard noticed Worf's glance towards the credenza. "Mr. Worf. Take the cookies. And tell Mildred that you're the one who eats them. Maybe she'll start putting them in your suite of offices instead of mine."

Worf did not grin though he felt like it. "She already bakes a few dozen cookies a week for me. Mildred and my Mother are great bakers. I've known her for years. If you think that Klingons honor blood ties in their familial relationships, you should meet my mother's side of the family." Suddenly Worf suspected that he may have revealed too much. He stiffened.

Picard noted the return of Worf's inscrutable Klingon demeanor. "Dismissed, Lieutenant. If necessary, I'll send for you if something arises that needs your personal attention. Enjoy your leave."

Worf left the office, leaving behind a Picard wondering what he should really do with a Klingon warrior. Picard tapped his comm badge. "Mildred, come in here." It wasn't a request.

"Honest, Boss," she pleaded, entering his room. "I applied for this position long before you hired Worf. Is it my fault that I once was his babysitter?"

"How could you apply for a position that didn't even exist until a few weeks ago?"

"Winnie told me that there'd be an opening. He just didn't give me any of the pertinent details. Winnie knows that I like to meddle every once in a while. In theory, I'm officially retired."

Picard studied the woman before him. She was the most efficient personal assistant that he had ever encountered. She anticipated everything. Her knowledge of the intricacies of Starfleet bureaucracy was astounding. Why was she was working for a mere captain, when she had the necessary intelligence and deviousness for babysitting admirals?

"Mildred, why did you come to work for me?"

"Heard of you."

"Don't tell me it was from Worf."

"Guinan."

"Guinan?" 

Picard took an even breath as he remembered the most mysterious, intriguing, infuriating woman in his life. Guinan was a magical name to drop. For someone to use it casually indicated one of two things - they were either using the name superficially, or they were Guinan's friend. Picard couldn't take a chance that it wasn't the latter. For Guinan's friends were his friends. And Guinan's friends could be a formidable force in the universe. He settled back into his chair.

"Tell me about how you know Guinan, Mrs. Krebs..."


	4. Chapter 4: The Final Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * indicates telepathic communication between Deanna and Lwaxana.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

She liked the way her Rigellian scarlet flame silk gown swished. She was blazing a pathway through this prissy diplomatic reception held in what could only be described as an ill-conceived version of a Napoleonic salon. She knew that no one in the room was likely to forget her presence. And that was exactly how Lwaxana Troi liked it - being the center of everyone's attention - preferably masculine attention.

She glanced toward her daughter and mentally cursed, for Deanna was wearing what could only be described as demure gown that revealed little if any of her beautiful daughter's physical assets. Parralex mud water was the color Lwaxana ascribed to the voluminous fabric of her daughter's dress.

*"Don't you own a better fitting sackcloth, Little One?"* Lwaxana telepathically asked.

*"I sent that gown to the cleaners,"* was Deanna's tart reply.

*"Touché."*

*"Why are we here, Mother? This reception? I thought that you disliked Admiral Winston Holt Wiley."*

*"I do. He's so old and sneaky. They embalmed him years ago, but he never noticed. That Ferengi reject actually turned me down!"* Lwaxana abruptly severed her connection with her daughter. She had revealed a tad more detail than she had intended.

Deanna only smiled. Long ago, she had accepted her mother's compelling need for masculine companionship.

*"Answer my question. Why are we here, Mother?"*

*"To reconnoiter, Little One."*

Suspicious down to the tips of her well-pedicured little toes, she resignedly asked, *"Reconnoiter what, Mother, dear?"*

*"The latest crop, of course."* 

Lwaxana turned to inspect a commanding looking man in a scarlet dress captain's uniform standing with several other officers. He was a little shorter than she would have liked, but his body seemed impressive.

*"Now, there is a promising gentleman. Granted, he is older than you, but he has an elegant, intense look. Besides, an older husband is usually most constant, indulgent, and appreciative - not like that awful, juvenile lieutenant that you once knew. How you could have been interested in someone so hirsute, I will never know."*

*"Mother!"* Deanna let her mother sense her anger. There were some things she refused to discuss with her mother, and the sacredness of her memories of Will Riker was one of them.

*"Any idea who he is?"* Lwaxana ignored her daughter's upset feelings.

Deanna audibly sighed, then glanced over at the group forming about the captain's commanding presence. Hovering waiters in black and white tunics approached with silver trays bearing a variety of cocktails and exotic hors d'oeuvres. 

*"I believe that is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, chief aide to Admiral Wiley."*

*"Well, anyone who could work for that man, is not for you. Let's go trolling elsewhere."* Lwaxana regally sniffed.

*"Mother!"*

*"Well, we're not going to find a husband for you at this reception. Let's go to the next one. Who knows? You may be swept off of your feet by a tall dark Klingon. I know that I almost was once a long time ago…"*

Deanna helplessly sighed, as she trailed after her mother's clicking footsteps out of the ballroom's doors. She glanced back toward the unsuitable captain. There had been something about his personality that had struck a chordant note with her own.

Deanna and her mother moved down the embassy's polished beige marble corridor. Lwaxana suddenly stopped, pivoted abruptly, and dashed into the nearest room, shutting the door behind her.

"Mother?" She was not understanding her mother's actions - until she saw the man coming toward her. The flickering candlelight from the old Sheffield and crystal wall sconces positioned down the hall provided little illumination. But it was enough light. She groaned under her breath, realizing that she couldn't flee too like her mother had; she was in his sights.

"Lieutenant Troi!" the Lt. Commander exuberantly greeted, clutching her hand, shaking it vigorously. "You remember me, don't you? I'm Lt. Commander Hutchinson, but you can call me Hutch." He scanned the candle-lit corridor. "Didn't I see your Mother as well? Lovely woman, your mother. She was quite fascinated by our last conversation. I was telling her everything I know about some rare fauna found on Myrmidon and how similar it is to your Betazed flame blossoms. Did you know that they have…"

Deanna interrupted him. "Excuse me, Commander, but I am looking for Admiral Nakamura. Have you seen him?"

"Well, let me escort you inside, and we will look together. In the mean time, did I ever tell you about the Andorian mating dance that I witnessed on Thelka II? Rather fascinating, really. The female first starts to shake an ithyphallic…" As he droned on, they returned to the main reception area, with Hutch determinedly steering Deanna by the elbow toward the first sighted grouping of Starfleet brass.

Deanna groaned inwardly at her tactical mistake. She was now leading Hutch toward her superior officers.

He was still rambling on about mating practices while managing to make such actions sound remarkably dull, as Hutch tugged a now-reluctant Deanna toward the admiral who was engaged in conversation with Captain Picard.

Imagining the various types of revenge her superior officers could impose upon her for inflicting Hutch on them, Deanna weakly smiled when they reached Admiral Nakamura. She hoped that she was only imagining the sudden distaste that had momentarily crossed over the admiral's thoughts.

"Admiral. Captain." Deanna's voice was faint.

Before either officer could reply, Hutch jumped in. "Admiral Nakamura, a pleasure to see you again." He shook the admiral's hand rather vigorously.

Then he focused his profuse energies on his next target, Jean-Luc Picard.

"Captain Picard, you don't know how pleased I am that you have joined Starfleet administration under Admiral Wiley's aegis. I hear tell that Holt - he let's me call him Holt you know - has assigned you to some of the cost management committees that I personally chair. I am so looking forward to serving with you on our joint committees. The times we'll have! Why, that reminds me of the time when I was working for Admiral Finney. Charming lady, you know…"

Picard blanched, hiding his reaction by suddenly reaching for a Pelleusian ale that he'd previously ignored during the majority of this stultifying, boring evening. He had just arrived at its nadir.

"How nice," he politely mumbled as Hutch continued to gabble on. Eventually, Hutch focused upon Picard's mask of polite demeanor.

"Don't you just love committee meetings? All of the fascinating discussions… the reading of the minutes…" Hutch smiled, pleased with the thought of actually being the one to wield the gavel. He was the kind of man who had memorized Robert's Rules of Order by heart, including all of its Federation variations. "Let me tell you, Jean-Luc… May I call you Jean-Luc?"

Picard nodded, regretting giving the consent even as he did it.

"Anyway, Jean-Luc, I'll teach you everything I know about Starfleet Command's inner-office memo system; a tricky little system if ever I've seen one. Did you know that there are 273 different inner-office forms for the Asimov tower alone? And some of them are wily indeed." He tittered at the sound of his own pun.

Picard speculated that Romulan interrogation practices would be a preferable choice over serving on a committee with this lieutenant commander. He also wondered how many resigned or retired officers had been left in Hutch's wake. Civilian life suddenly felt very attractive in comparison to spending a minute with Hutch on a monetary finance committee.

Committees?

Inner-office memos?

Picard had a sudden urge to join the space merchants. He'd bet his soul that they did not have inner-office memos.

"I'm sure," Picard politely responded, ignoring the silent mirth he felt coming from his friend Woody. He was not quite sure as to the subject matter of Hutch's current volley.

Hutch continued. "Oh, where's my manners? Admiral, Captain, this is Lieutenant Deanna Troi, a most fair daughter of Betazed."

"Lieutenant Troi," Picard politely greeted the lady. And then his gaze narrowed. He studied the beauteous Betazoid. "By chance, are you Counselor Deanna Troi?"

"Why yes, Captain." She sensed something in him, that could almost be pinpointed as an excitement of purpose.

"I was going to contact your office tomorrow. May I have a word with you?" He gestured toward a hallway, taking one step towards it. Turning to Woody, he blandly stated, "It's business, Woody. Holt's orders."

Woody rolled his eyes. He understood more than Picard might have realized. "I'm sure," he responded through gritted teeth. Then he shifted, and politely smiled at Hutch.

Nodding toward Hutchinson, Picard added, "Nice to see you again, Commander."

Swiftly he guided Lt. Troi away, through billowing silk curtains into the adjacent hallway. They walked past massive tan and black striated marble columns, toward a private library.

Sensing his relief, Deanna offered her best, all-knowing counselor smile. "Smooth, very smooth, Captain. You should be a diplomat. You're quite quick on your feet."

Picard glanced back toward the ballroom. "I'd almost like to return just to see how Woody is going to disengage himself from discussing Nareendan ornithology. Or will it be latent Klingon erotic practices of the Kahless dynasty?"

Picard escorted Deanna into the room that was faintly reflective of the Georgian period, old England, Earth. Regency settees. Bristol candelabra aglow with candlelight. Lunar light beams dancing with the shadow flowers enticingly waving, to be noticed in a garden beyond the beveled glass fenestrated terrace doors. The smell of real, leather bound tomes...

Intimate. Conducive to seduction.

And this wasn't quite what Picard wanted. He had duly noticed that the counselor was a strikingly beautiful woman. But it was a mere fact to him - not a feeling.

Deanna sensed his sudden restraint.

"Sir, maybe I should go back and rescue Admiral Nakamura. I was only trying to extricate myself, when I inadvertently brought Commander Hutchinson to you."

She calmly studied this man. His angular face revealed little in the lights from the fire place and the candles. She sensed no concupiscence in his demeanor, though his first reaction to her indicated that he had a healthy heterosexual libido. He had tamped his instincts down.

Picard shook his head. "Lieutenant. In some ways, Woody is getting precisely what he deserves." He smiled, fondly remembering something. "His behavior when I was first stationed under him on the Reliant was not exactly kind to a newly-minted ensign. Inflicting Hutch upon him is only partial repayment for a long-standing debt of honor."

"Well, thank you anyway, for the rescue, Captain Picard. I do appreciate it." Deanna was relieved, intuiting his thoughts. This man had a sense of humor which was a rare attitude amongst the upper echelon of Starfleet command officers. Deanna turned toward the door that led into the corridor.

"Please, Lieutenant. Sit. I really do wish to talk to you." He gestured toward a library bench that was even more to his distaste than the one in his office. This one had gilt wood crocodile carved legs. Picard idly wondered if high office fostered atrocious taste.

"Lieutenant…"

Deanna quickly corrected him. "I prefer Counselor, Sir."

"Of course, Counselor. Is there a possibility that I could make an appointment to see you tomorrow? There are some matters which I wish to discuss with you."

Deanna mentally reviewed her schedule. "My first appointment is at 1030 hours. You could come at 0930, if that is acceptable?"

She considered the man sitting near her. Her mother had been correct in describing him as elegant. For indeed, he was. Slender, balding, fit, intelligent, intriguing, aristocratic - and damned sexy. Troi admitted to it all. She might have considered further thoughts of him, if he had not had foremost in his mind the sense of a woman occupying a place in his imagination.

He was complex. And that, in and of itself, she found attractive.

She pulled herself from her thoughts as she heard him respond to her question.

"Of course, Counselor. Thank you for your consideration."

With that he stood, offered his arm which she politely declined, tugged down his formal dress uniform jacket, skillfully maneuvered around the hidden ottoman obstacles in the dim light of the room, and returned to the ballroom.

She sat there a while longer, mentally reviewing all that she knew of the man. Deciding that the events concerning the Stargazer and his incarceration in the depths of Starfleet bureaucracy were the topics that he wished to discuss with her, Deanna finally built up enough courage to go in search of her mother.

She found Lwaxana adjusting her make-up in a traditionally styled powder room.

*"Mother, why didn't you warn me that Hutch was approaching?"*

*"Little One, you need to practice your telepathic skills more. If you had been practicing, you'd have sensed him coming too. You managed to escape Hutch in record time, though. However did you contrive that?"*

*"I unfortunately brought Hutch over to Admiral Nakamura and Captain Picard. Luckily, Captain Picard has a quick mind, and rescued us both. He is a rather impressive man."*

*"Deanna, Picard is most unacceptable. I told you to stay away from anyone connected with Winston. I refuse to have to invite that man to your wedding! Imagine being forced to dance with that bandicoot! Even my fuzzy tilsit won't creep over him."*

*"Too bad, Mother. I've agreed to meet with the good captain, tomorrow."*

Deanna left her mother sputtering.

Exactly at 0929 hours the next morning, Captain Picard entered Deanna's office.

Deanna stood and gestured toward an ivory upholstered sofa where a white porcelain coffee set was waiting for them on a side table of Tanugan rosewood.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning, Counselor. Thank you again, for seeing me on such short notice."

Deanna sat down on her highly professional-looking sofa, and poured a cup of coffee for the captain. He shook he head when she motioned toward the cream.

"I've had a chance to examine your psych records, Captain…"

He also refused the sugar.

"…I am sure that whatever your problems are, I can help."

Picard was somewhat embarrassed by the direction of Counselor Troi's conversation.

"Counselor, I think that you have misunderstood…"

"Captain, I am an empath. I know the magnitude of your sorrow over the loss of the Stargazer. And then to face the indignity of a court martial afterwards. Well, I am here to help you in any way that I can."

Captain Picard chuckled even as he shook his head. "You have misinterpreted my intent, Counselor."

She sensed his consternation, and then there was something else. She immediately began to apologize. "Captain. I am sorry. I mistook your request. If I've offended you by delving into your personal files…"

Picard smiled. "No offense taken, Counselor. You were just demonstrating how competent you are as a counselor in anticipation of our meeting. I should have been more specific about my purpose in meeting with you. Though it is possible that in the future, your research into my background will be warranted."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand."

"Counselor, I am here to interview you."

Deanna sipped her coffee as she sought to control her curiosity before she responded. "For what position, Sir? I am content here, at Starfleet Command. I'd like to think that I am doing a competent job here."

"That is not what is in question, Counselor. I would think, however, that you would prefer to be more challenged? Have a position that is… unpredictable?"

"Sir, I…" Deanna stopped speaking, trying to assess his sudden surge of excitement and enthusiasm.

"I am here to tempt you into joining my staff, Counselor."

"In what position, Sir?"

"I need a ship's counselor…" He stated it matter-of-factly, now enjoying her obvious sense of confusion. He was more like Admiral Wiley in some ways, than he knew. "And you are it."

"But you don't have…" Her voice trailed off. Sensing the assuredness of the man, she understood that Captain Jean-Luc Picard most definitely had a ship somewhere. Her mother had been right. Admiral Winston Holt Wiley did like to play games. And Captain Picard was definitely one of his gamesmen.

"What ship, Sir?"

Picard stood, looking at her, trying to hide his sense of pride over his news. "By order of Admiral Winston Holt Wiley, nothing of our conversation is to be repeated to anyone else without the express permission of myself or Admiral Wiley. Do you understand, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I am in command of the Enterprise, 1701-D. I am to be her first captain. And I want you as my senior ship's counselor. With promotion to Lieutenant Commander, of course."

Pulling herself together, she considered his words. "Captain, why me? Surely there are more-qualified senior counselors of higher rank available?"

"Yes, there are. But none have the family counseling training that you have, Counselor. And that is why I want you more than any other counselor. You have a background in civilian practice as well as in Starfleet."

Deanna didn't quite comprehend everything that he had just said. "Families? On board a starship? Oh, the rumors are true, then."

"Yes. A new Starfleet ruling. The galaxy class starships, as well as other series, will allow families with children on board. When you have over one thousand people on a ship, and almost eighty percent of them will be civilians, family counselors will be needed. You may be new to Starfleet, Counselor, but you've had years of experience in the areas that concern me. Will you join me, Deanna Troi? Be my senior counselor?"

She didn't need to analyze her feelings. This opportunity was that for which she'd been preparing herself since the day that she had joined Starfleet.

"I would be delighted, Captain Picard. What can I do to help?"

"Decide whom you wish to pick for your staff. As department head, you will determine the number of counselors and support personnel that will be needed. We will formally approach them when the time comes. You'll have to be a bureaucrat for a while, helping me choose the appropriate people for my ship. My offices are at the Asimov building. My adjutant, Lt. Worf, will assign you your own suite. Join me when you are ready."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard studied Yar. Since they were by themselves having breakfast in his private apartment, without Worf hovering as a chaperon, Picard toyed with the idea of having a more personal relationship with the lady. He had to admit that he was attracted to her. He recognized the difficulties of their age difference, as well as those of rank. And yet, they were simpatico. He had never been involved before with an officer under his command. It would be foolish if he changed his personal policy. Yet, Tasha was special. The yearning in her eyes got to him. He considered the possibility that he might be able to fulfill some of her needs.

Tasha picked up her second, freshly-baked croissant. She added about a thousand calories worth of butter and marmalade to it before she started eating it. She imagined that she saw a reproving look from Picard.

"Don't give me that look," she ordered of her captain. "On Tarkana, I spent most of my life being denied everything - food, clean water, personal safety, and even a roof over my head. You name it. I didn't have it. Now, I choose." She saw him raise his eyebrows. "And yes, I will work out to Worf's exercise program number four at the Asimov Holodeck. If that doesn't burn off all of the excess calories, nothing will."

"That wasn't what I was thinking, Tasha."

"Then, what?"

"I was reflecting upon what a remarkable young woman you are, Tasha Yar."

Considering what she had undergone in the past, he was amazed that she could blush.

He continued. "It is my privilege to serve with you, Lieutenant."

Tasha didn't know how to respond. The man that she idolized was now telling her that he admired her. Part of her sensed his masculine interest, and she was tempted.

"Breakfast with you is always interesting, Captain." She wiped her lips with a linen napkin, silently amused by her commanding officer's preference for formal etiquette. It seemed that the ceremonious nature of his officers and that of a certain lieutenant, had an influence over the man. "What next?" she asked, enthusiasm coloring her dedication to her duty. She was having the time of her life serving under Picard.

"Time to meet Deanna Troi. She is crucial to our staff choices. If she works out, she'll make your job easier. Show her around when she arrives."

Tasha put down her napkin. "Then let us hope that Counselor Troi works out."

"I've no doubt that she will."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

The Titan run was legendary. And so were its brave pilots. Geordi LaForge had earned a place on the mythical list. But the king of this particular celestial mountain was another officer, a Lieutenant, S. G., William Thomas Riker.

Jean-Luc made a mental note to check that name when he returned to his offices at Starfleet command. The only problem with the Titan run was that it took time. And Jean-Luc Picard was not necessarily always a patient man.

So Picard explored the corridors of Starbase K-7, one of the oldest bases in Starfleet, as he waited. Unlike the clean, geometric lines of the newer starbases, SB K-7 was a hodge-podge of add-ons. It looked more like a giant erector set than it did a well-planned design.

He privately wondered if anyone had the exact schematics of the layout of the station. After all, it had been here more than one hundred and twenty years.

Finding a pub that literally was a hole-in-the-wall, he ordered a synthehol ale and commanded the station's computer to alert him when LaForge returned. When so forewarned, he returned to the suite that had been assigned to him, to once more review LaForge's record.

The next morning, he presented himself to Geordi LaForge in the station's docking bay.

"Do you remember me, Lieutenant?"

Geordi lifted his nose out from under the hood of a small hovercraft. "I've never forgotten you, Captain." His smile was friendly, open, and very typical of the man's personality.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Lieutenant. And I never forgot your refitting the shuttlecraft's fusion initiators when we were on that inspection tour together." Picard straightened his tunic. "Do you have a moment, Lieutenant?"

LaForge motioned towards a causeway. "I take it that you have something to discuss, Sir?"

"Yes, Mr. LaForge, I do."

Geordi took a chance. "I'm a Starfleet brat, Captain."

Picard was puzzled by the relevance of this statement. "Meaning?"

"You're assembling a crew."

Picard's surprised look confirmed Geordi's suspicions.

"For what ship, Sir? I don't know the answer to that one - yet."

On Picard's darkening expression, he added, "Purely speculation, Captain. I haven't heard any specific rumors. But I know the signs."

"And they are, Lieutenant?"

In his excitement, Geordi interrupted Picard. "I want to be on board that ship, Sir. I'd like to serve with you.

Picard chose his words carefully. "It will not be soon. But I've always wanted you for my next command from the moment that you rebuilt that shuttlecraft. Be ready, Mr. LaForge. I'll let you know when to come and join me on board the Enterprise."

"Wow." Geordi wouldn't have guessed the flagship considering this man's most recent history. "I'll come when you call, Sir."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard stared at his officer as Yar skillfully balanced padds and coffee cups, managing to get everything where it belonged, onto his desk, without a disaster occurring. Her juggling skills were impressive.

"You've yet to speak your thoughts, Tasha."

"Meaning, Jean-Luc?" she countered, drinking from her cup of coffee. Over the past week, Picard had started using her first name informally, when they were alone. And had asked her to do the same.

"First officer. Which one would you choose?"

She looked at the man that she now considered her friend as well as her commanding officer. The fact that he respected her opinion simultaneously thrilled and surprised her. "None of them, Jean-Luc."

"I see.' Her statement was not exactly a surprise to him.

"None of them are right for the job on your ship. We have to keep looking."

Picard stared at the padds for a moment before he responded. "We have checked, double-checked and then triple-checked every command track officer ranked lieutenant commander or higher, in all of Starfleet. And yet, you think that no one is acceptable?"

"They are not right for you, Jean-Luc." On his questioning, almost affronted look she added, "You've given me permission to speak my mind." Picard merely waved his hand. She continued. "Well, none of the current commanders are what you seek or what you need for your First Officer."

"Even if I told you that Admiral Wiley has a preference?"

"I'd be remiss in my duty if I agreed - Sir."

He nodded. "You are right as usual, Tasha. I care for none of Holt's hand-picked choices myself." He stood and looked out the window that provided a superb view of the Bay Bridge. "We need to expand our search purviews."

"Meaning, Jean-Luc?"

"We examine all promising officer's files, whether they be Lieutenant Commander or Lieutenant, Senior Grade." He turned and smiled at Tasha. "After all, if I'd gone by rank alone, you would be a monitor at the Romulan Neutral Zone Border, by now."

She glared at him.

They walked back to his private office.

A few moments later, Worf entered, completely ignoring the sputterings of S'Rock who was trailing after him.

S'Rock touched Worf's arm, to try and stop him. Worf shook the Vulcan off, roaring, "Be gone!"

Perhaps it was Worf's tone of voice that convinced the Vulcan to ignore the breaking of the very rules of protocol that Worf himself had established.

"Most sorry, Sir," the Vulcan coolly stated, as he backed out of the door.

Perhaps Picard had an active imagination, but he would of sworn that he'd heard the Vulcan swear 'Klingon barbarian!' in an almost-emotional under-voice, as the door closed.

"How was your leave, Lieutenant?" Picard politely inquired.

For a moment, Worf was lost in his anger, and then recollected his leave, uttering, "My Mother made rokeg blood pie…" Then he pulled himself together. "Good, Sir." He reverted back to his standard persona.

"I need a first officer, Lieutenant. Suggestions?"

Worf did not react to this unexpected question, though he found himself pleased that his commanding officer had asked his opinion. Picard went up a notch by Klingon standards.

"There are many choices, Captain."

"And you have no preference?"

"A Titan run pilot - Lieutenant, S. G., William Riker. Sir."

"Who?" The name seemed vaguely familiar to Picard. He rested his elbows on his desk, tapping his fingers together in thought.

"Sir, I know this officer. He is a man of honor."

"You've served with him, Mr. Worf?"

"No, Sir." Worf suddenly seemed nervous; self-conscious.

"Explain." Picard was intrigued.

"I've lost to him at poker, Sir."

This surprised Picard. "You are a poker player, Mr. Worf?"

"Yes, Sir. I have participated in the traditional Starfleet fleet play-off. And I have won." Worf wasn't boasting. He was merely stating a fact.

"Between the starships," Picard remembered. "I have played a little poker, myself, Mr. Worf. And I have won, too," he added sotto voce.

"Yes, Sir."

Picard went up another notch in Worf's opinion.

"Continue your card playing tradition, Mr. Worf. When the time comes, the reputation of poker champions will only add to the prestige of the Enterprise."

"Yes, Sir."

"I surmise that you admire this Lt. Riker's playing style?"

"Yes, Sir. He always plays fair, even when he is not lucky. He loses with grace. And he does not gloat too much, when he wins. We have sparred together on the Holodecks, too. He is up to a Level Five in my holoprogram. He is the only human officer to ever reach that level. He has even beaten me."

"You are recommending someone who has defeated you?" Picard's tone of voice communicated his amazement.

"Sir, it was a worthy besting. He did not use force. He used guile."

"Pull Lt. Riker's file and pace it with the others on my desk, Mr. Worf." He stared at Worf. "If he has your admiration, Mr. Worf, I will consider him."

There was more regard in Worf's voice for this Riker than there was for his current commander, Picard ruefully admitted to himself. Silently, Picard acknowledged that any man who could impress this Klingon, was worth investigating. He sighed. Riker's file was but one of many to be considered. Poker playing skills were not necessarily a command requirement. But they could be an asset. Eventually, Picard would remember the man's reputation with the Titan run.

After a meeting with Holt, Picard returned to his office. He searched through the files that he had almost ignored, and found Riker's file. He studied it, and was somewhat disappointed by its contents. He had been expecting something more, even beyond the man's superlative piloting record.

Riker's file was filled with glowing reports of an ambitious, albeit brash, career-oriented officer on the "A" list. And it was almost identical to four dozen other files that he'd already perused.

He was about to put it aside, displease his Klingon adjutant, and reach for another padd, when he noticed the incident on Altair III with Captain DeSoto of the Hood. As he reread the report of that incident, a growing sense of rightness filled his chest.

Worf was correct. Riker was an exceptional officer. A soon-to-be-promoted exceptional First Officer, if the man was as ambitious as his record indicated.

A week later, Picard studied current visual tapes of William Riker. His candidate for first officer was now on leave at SB 515. It was obvious that Riker was a lady's man. There were several lovelies competing for the man's attention.

Picard recognized the battle he'd face with Admiral Wiley if he chose as his first officer a man who was not even a lieutenant commander. Choosing Riker over higher ranked officers would not sit well with Wiley. Every command track full commander and his mentor would be yowling at Starfleet Command when the news of Picard's choice became public knowledge.

Was Riker worth the battle?

Picard quietly observed the man with his fellow officers on leave. The camaraderie was obvious. The loyalty was not. But Picard sensed that it ran deep amongst Riker's fellow officers.

Riker commanded by the sheer force of his personality, and not by rank. This man was a born leader, the right kind of leader. Picard didn't need to meet the man to know more. Worf had excellent instincts. Riker would become his new first officer when he returned from the latest deep space mission.

The only foreseeable difficulty would be in convincing Starfleet command that it had been their idea that Riker become his exec.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard studied the latest reports on the construction of the Enterprise. Holt always made sure that his aide had the latest information immediately. Picard appreciated this courtesy.

During the ensuing months he had reviewed thousands of records. And with each and every one, he had contemplated the duties of every position. He was sure that he had made errors.

Try as he might, he did not consider Commander Terrence Argyle the most appropriate choice for Chief Engineer. Yet there really was no other suitable candidate other than Commander MacDougall. And MacDougall had indicated that he'd be leaving the Enterprise after her first mission.

Argyle was Wiley's choice. And Picard did have to concede some picks to Wiley in order to get Riker. But in his heart, Picard wasn't so sure. Somehow, LaForge's name kept returning to the forefront of his thoughts. But the lieutenant just didn't have enough of the experience that was required of a chief engineer.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Lieutenant Commander Data had been a difficult choice. Winston Holt Wiley was trying to shove this android down Picard's throat as a second officer. Picard knew it. Yet, when he looked at his record, especially when Data had been on board the Trieste, Wiley was justified. Still, Picard had his doubts. He arranged a meeting with Admiral Wiley.

The admiral was congenial in his greetings as he met with Picard in his inner sanctum.

"Jean-Luc, how goes the hunt?"

"Well, Holt, for the most part."

"But?"

"I am still looking for a first and second officer. I have possibilities for both posts, but I've yet to make overtures."

"You are questioning my championing of Commander Data, aren't you?"

"Yes, Holt. An android as a second officer is my chief objection. Perhaps it is a human failing of mine, but I cannot conceive of placing a starship under the control of a machine. If that be prejudice, then it is. I keep considering human lives versus the soul of a machine."

"Mr. Data is unique, Jean-Luc. I am requesting that you give Mr. Data a chance. Right now, Mr. Data is on temporary assignment. You could put him on your team and get to know him better. If after working with Mr. Data for several months, you still have reservations, then I won't object if you choose not to use him. I think that you both will be enriched by the decision. "

"Enriched?"

Wiley nodded.

Picard nodded. "I'll approach him tomorrow."

Wiley just had to ask. "And for your first officer?"

Picard took a steadying breath, froze his nerves and answered, "William Riker."

"Who?" Holt's surprise was genuine.

Picard tightly smiled and thought "Good. A name he doesn't know and therefore control."

"A young officer I have investigated," Picard calmly stated, not quite admitting to himself the pleasure he was finding in out-maneuvering Wiley. "He's the one that I want for my first officer, Holt." He spoke with an edge of steel to his voice.

The admiral was not pleased with his captain. "I strongly recommend that you reconsider your choice for first officer of the Enterprise, Captain. There are full commanders far more deserving of the honor than this…" Wiley punched a button on a padd, "…Lieutenant Riker."

"Lieutenant Commander Riker?" Picard calmly suggested.

"You're going to fight for this, aren't you, Picard?" Wiley gruffly stated, quite annoyed by the presumptiveness of this officer. "You want me to promote him now so that he can become a full commander when the time comes."

"When I chose to accept the captaincy of the Enterprise certain terms…" Picard's voice was hushed, his words trailing off, implying everything.

Truth.

Unforgiving determination.

Wiley had a reputation for choosing his battles well. This confrontation with Picard was not a skirmish that he had to win.

"Your call, Captain. Damn. I should have never picked the only freshman cadet with the balls to boast and then win the Academy marathon." The admiral sounded grumpy, and perhaps, held a grudging admiration for an officer who could stick to his guns.

In the same tone of voice as his previous statement, Picard said, "Thank you, Holt. I won't forget this."

"You're the one who has to live with your mistakes, Jean-Luc. Careers could fail."

Wiley always had to have the final parry.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard studied Commander Data from afar. The android was possibly a thousand times faster than his human counterparts at his computer console. It was an impressive display, but by his very mechanism, it illustrated the vast differences between the android and his fellow human officers.

Picard strode down the steps to the android's console. "Mr. Data, I am Jean-Luc Picard."

"I have been expecting you, Sir."

Data shut down his terminal at his base at Command Headquarters, Starfleet, standing to look at the multi-rumored-about captain.

"You have?"

"Yes, Sir." Data walked around his console and proceeded to open a nearby door. "This is a private conference room, Captain. We may talk in here." Picard and Data entered the room. Picard sat down by a small conference table. Data stood.

"Shall I proceed, Captain?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Once I deduced that you were the most likely candidate as the new captain of the USS Enterprise, 1701-D, I calculated the possibility of your asking me to become a senior bridge officer. My answer is yes. I would like to serve on your starship. Your record is most intriguing, Sir. You are predictably unpredictable for a human captain."

Picard didn't quite know what to make of the android's observations. "Why did you suspect that I would be offered the Enterprise?"

"Two things indicated it, Sir. The first was that you were the only Starfleet captain with a record worthy of the command. Captain Halloway was not the correct choice."

"And the second, Commander Data?"

"Having studied your record, I found it illogical to believe that you would have become Admiral Winston Holt Wiley's adjutant. I deduced that it would have been far more likely for you to resign your commission than to become a professional bureaucrat. Therefore, you are only on temporary assignment to Admiral Wiley. Your next assignment would be the captaincy of a ship. And the only ship worthy of your abilities is the Enterprise."

Picard was surprised by the android. "Are you always this analytical, Mr. Data?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I think that you will be an interesting choice as second officer, Commander Data." He glanced down at his padd. "When will you be able to join my staff?"

"When do you need me, Sir? I can complete my assignment here tonight."

"I need you in my service as soon as possible. I need you to review the civilian personnel lists and make logical recommendations for assignments to my ship."

"I always make logical decisions, Captain."

Picard accepted this statement at face value. "Understood, Mr. Data."

"I shall report for duty at 0800 tomorrow."

"Yes, Mr. Data." Picard paused for a moment, automatically noting the android's polite demeanor, wondering if it were a constant. "Perhaps my ego will regret this suggestion, but I would like to play a game of chess with you, someday."

"I play many variations of the game, Sir. I would be happy to so instruct you."

Data wasn't being presumptuous. Picard would soon learn that he was just being Data.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard studied the officers who were seated about the gold and green marble meeting room. It was one of the more Rococo style rooms in his set of suites. But he did have to admit that the chairs were comfortable.

He had called to order the meeting of his officers including Worf, Yar, Troi, LaForge and Data. They were still months away from the launch.

Picard sat at the head of the gold trimmed conference table. "I have decided upon a first officer."

Picard ignored Worf's muttered, "At last…"

He would deal with the Klingon's mumblings later.

"I have chosen a Lieutenant Commander William Thomas Riker as my first officer. Admiral Wiley will instruct Starfleet to make the appointment after I contact the officer."

Picard stopped speaking. While most of his staff seemed pleased or surprised with his announcement, there was a stiffness and pallor about Counselor Troi that appeared to indicate shock - or was it dismay?

"Yes, Mr. LaForge."

"Sir, I know I am assigned as a helmsman, but Commander Riker is the best pilot that I've ever known. He still holds the Starfleet and civilian records for the Titan run."

Picard's eyes twinkled, as he asked, "Are you suggesting that I switch assignments with you and Commander Riker?"

Geordi looked shocked at the suggestion. "Oh no, Sir. I don't want to be on the command track. I just meant to say…"

"Mr. LaForge, whether you know it or not, you are on the command track. But I will respect your wishes for now. I am glad that you pointed out Commander Riker's talent." He looked at his officers. "I want every officer on my bridge to be capable of piloting my ship if there is an emergency." He glanced over at Counselor Troi. "I believe you have had some pilot training, Counselor?"

"Yes, Sir. A few years ago."

He noted that her voice seemed weak. "Brush up on your skills before the launch, Counselor. You'll have bridge duty."

This pronouncement surprised her.

Geordi jumped in. "I'll check you out, Counselor. And help you polish up your skills if necessary."

"Very good, Mr. LaForge. Make it so."

After all pertinent business was discussed, Picard stood to end the meeting.

Worf spoke up as he waited for the lieutenant to lead the way out of the room. "Have you ever played poker with Commander Riker?" he asked of Geordi.

"Well, Will might call it playing poker. I call it saying goodbye to my credits. He's always beaten me. But I've heard that you've won quite a bit from him."

Picard smiled as he watched his officers leave the room. They were starting to coalesce into a bridge crew.

Picard wasn't exactly surprised when Deanna Troi stayed seated. She waited for everyone else to leave the conference room, all escorted down the corridor by the waiting yeoman and ensigns that seemed to have been conjured up from no where, and all were under Lt. Worf's command.

"I take it that you have an objection to my choice of first officer."

Deanna approached the captain that she was just now beginning to understand. He was a very complex, private man. Yet he was the embodiment of all that was good within Starfleet. She'd never before encountered an officer whose primary purpose in life was to actually be what he considered best for the Federation. Or someone who held such a primal conviction that he was it. She wondered why, how. She questioned what would happen when Picard at last admitted in his mind, what it had cost him personally. He was deliberately isolating himself from so many of the joys of life. And at the end of his life, would he consider such sacrifices to be worth it? Or would he regret the high cost? Would he ever wish that he had selected a different course to his life?

"Counselor?" He spoke gently, realizing that she was lost in thought. "Counselor. What did you wish to say to me?"

Deanna returned to reality, slightly embarrassed by her speculations. "Sorry, Sir. It's a hazard of being a Betazoid counselor. We sometimes get misdirected with our feelings."

"No apologies necessary, Counselor." Picard went to the replicator and ordered his tea. He motioned as if to ask the Counselor if she wished anything to drink. She shook her head.

"Now, what did you want to tell me about Lieutenant Commander Riker?"

She was surprised by his observation. "Are you sure that you're not an empath, Captain?"

"I'm just a judge of human nature, Counselor. I wouldn't have obtained the rank of captain if I hadn't acquired some observatory skills." Picard took another sip of tea. "Now, why are you delaying a discussion that you have instigated?"

Ruefully, Deanna acknowledged his percipiency. "Because it is personal, Sir. And I am embarrassed."

"You were one of Commander Riker's women." Picard didn't realize how judgmental he sounded. He'd inflicted unwitting harm upon his Counselor.

Deanna stiffened, appalled that she'd been so obvious. And that Riker's profligate behavior was so notorious.

"Not exactly, Sir." She spoke with a dignity that she wasn't really feeling. "When I was with Bill, I believed that I was his only one."

He took into account the cost to her of speaking these words. "Is there a problem with your working professionally with Commander Riker?"

"Of course not, Sir."

"Then, what is the problem?"

She paused for a moment to find the right words to express to him her feelings. "I thought that you should understand why there may be some awkwardness between us."

Turning away from him, she looked at a copy of a Watteau on the wall of two lovers in a garden. But what she was really seeing was two lovers by a jungle waterfall. "Bill was my Imzadi, my heart. His feelings may have changed, but those in my heart have not."

Grace under fire.

Picard admired the strength of Deanna Troi. And he decided that he had made the correct decision in making her his senior counselor.

"Counselor, if you ever do have difficulties, please tell me. There are no negative reports to Commander Riker's record for his off-duty behavior. It seems that he is well liked by all - even his women."

"Yes, Bill is very personable. And if he is your friend, he will be the very best of friends."

"Counselor, I intend to have a policy of frank speaking amongst my senior officers. You will inform me if there are problems. Or if you have problems." When she said nothing in response, he accepted this as her answer. "Dismissed."

Deanna sighed in agreement, relieved. All she had to worry about was how Will would react.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Mr. O'Brien?"

The chief looked up, surprised that a highly ranked officer knew his name. Duty on board a starbase normally consisted of beaming passengers or cargo, in and out, in and out. Few bothered to learn a name unless there was a problem. O'Brien gave the bald-headed man before him the once-over. This man did not seem like a problem maker, though he did have the look of a man who could resolve problems.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

O'Brien recognized the name right away. "I know who you are, Captain."

"And I've heard of you, Mr. O'Brien."

O'Brien stood that at his console, patiently waiting, knowing that no officer would pay a compliment without wanting something in return.

"I have acquired a ship, Mr. O'Brien."

"That's good for you, Sir."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "And I'd like you to come on board her. With promotion to rank of chief. Will you?"

"What ship, Sir? A starship?"

"Yes, Mr. O'Brien. A galaxy class starship."

O'Brien nodded, considering the current possible ships. He looked about the empty cargo bay. He correctly guessed the name. "Well, almost any ship would be better than here. I hate space stations, Sir. I never want to be posted to another one."

Picard was amused. "Mr. O'Brien, you should be careful about revealing what you hate. Starfleet invariably finds a way to give you exactly what you do not want."

"So true, Sir."

"So, Chief?"

O'Brien nodded. "If you can get me off of this station, and on to the Enterprise, then I'm your chief."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard toyed with his yacht's controls. He had just acquired a petty officer, an exobiologist and a stellar cartographist to head that lab. Not a shabby achievement for a forty hour trip to Mars and SB8. He guided his yacht back toward an Earth heading, pondering his tasks yet to do.

The civilian staff was being determined by Mr. Data and certain Starfleet officials. So far, no objectionable name had crossed over his padd. He had little control over their choices, though the civilians would be under his jurisdiction as captain, and he did have the right to decline their postings. The eight hundred or so civilians and their families had to follow Starfleet orders, but still be treated as civilians. The potential for problems displeased Picard. But there was nothing he could do about it. Once he was captain, he would establish policies that would clearly designate the roles for civilians on board his ship.

After putting the yacht on autopilot, he ordered the computer to bring up his daily agenda. He acknowledged to himself what should be at the top of the list. There was one job offer that he had been deliberately postponing. Now was the time to confront her. He could delay no more.

His CMO had to have enough time to properly set up her sickbay. It would be wrong of him to deprive her of that time because of his personal failings. The moment he reached Earth, he would contact Beverly Crusher.

Tasha met him when he landed. She smiled sympathetically as she handed him a list of newly-acquired personnel.

"There are numerous rumors, Sir. Admirals Nakamura, Kostmayer, McCall, and Callan all want to talk to you immediately. And Wiley has called a press conference for tomorrow. You are ordered to be there."

Tasha recognized the look of distaste that crossed over his face.

"How was the information leaked, Tasha? Do you know?"

"I've traced most of the rumors back to some barkeep, and, er…," she paused, clearing her throat, "… one of Winston Holt Wiley's yeomen who was infatuated with an ensign who wanted a posting on the Enterprise."

"I think I can imagine where Holt will post that ensign."

Tasha laughed.

Picard liked the sound of her laughter. "Well, we knew it would be revealed, someday."

"Yes, Captain." Tasha cleared her throat. "You've received numerous communiqués. Most are standard congratulatory notes. Do you wish to see them or shall I direct a few of our staff to issue routine replies?"

"You mean, I might actually have some work to assign to the multitudes of staff that Lt. Worf has assembled? Astounding." He thought for a moment and fancied the idea. "I will review all communiqués. And then instruct that all responses are to be hand-written and hand-delivered where possible. That should keep the staff occupied for a few days."

"And that they should wait for a reply, Sir," Tasha mischievously added.

"Why, correct, Lieutenant. An excellent suggestion."

"I'll get Mildred to organize everything."

"Assign it to Mr. Data, instead."

"Yes, Sir. In the mean time, I will be officially off duty once I get done at the Asimov."

"Tasha…"

"Any plans, Jean-Luc? I am meeting an old friend for dinner."

Picard digested his bit of information. "Bardy?" he inquired, not wishing to seem overly curious.

"Now, where did you hear of Bardy, Jean-Luc. From Krebbie?"

"I do not listen to gossip, Lieutenant."

Tasha silently amended, "But I bet that you do eavesdrop, Jean-Luc Picard…"

She smiled up at him. "Will you bail me out of the brig if I kill my date with my home-cooked meal?"

Picard mentally packed up all thoughts of a personal relationship with Tasha. She obviously was pursuing more appropriate interests.

"I will consider it." He permitted a trace of a smile to appear. "Thank you for the warning. I'll remember to use a replicator if circumstances should warrant our ever dining together."

Tasha tried to control her smile. He might deny having a sense of humor, but at times, he most certainly did. She had suspected Picard's personal interest. But his personal code was similar to hers. Though there was a portion of her soul that regretted the necessity of such a decision.

When they reached their offices, Picard sequestered himself, giving the numerous yeomen and ensigns orders that he did not wish to be disturbed by anyone lower in rank than a fleet admiral.

He sat for a while, staring at his view screen, remembering too many events and too many strong, alarming emotions. Yet, he had a duty to perform. He forced himself to say into the intercom, "Mildred, I wish to speak to Dr. Beverly Crusher on board the James Carter."

A few minutes later, Dr. Crusher appeared on his view screen.

Her voice was neutral, and controlled as she greeted him. "Jean-Luc. How… unexpected."

"Beverly…" His voice trailed off as he searched for the precise, correct words. He was momentarily silenced by dreams of Beverly, both past and present. She was even more beautiful than she had been eight years earlier…

Then he drew upon the control granted to him by his captain's pips. Firmly he addressed the woman that had once meant everything in the universe to him.

"Dr. Beverly Crusher, by order of Starfleet command, you are hereby offered the position of CMO on the USS Enterprise, 1701-D. I will be her captain. Do you accept?"

Beverly blinked. And struggled to maintain her composure, even though for some inexplicable reason her heart had started to pound faster and faster from the moment she had been hailed by her late husband's best friend.

"You want me, Captain?"

Picard side-stepped the pitfalls of her unthinking question with, 'Admiral Wiley does for CMO."

Nothing of his feelings did he reveal. He was stoic.

She accepted his response, not willing to delve beneath the superficialities. They weren't true friends - at least, not any more. He was nothing more now that just Jack's former commanding officer. She thought she understood all the nuances of everything that he was asking.

And now she had to give him an answer. The thought of being the CMO of the flagship of the fleet was tempting indeed. It had been a goal. Beverly made up her mind with her characteristic Howard forthrightness.

"May I bring my son Wesley with me?"

Picard had to think for a moment as he remembered the little boy at his father's funeral. The child would be a teenager now. He nodded curtly. "Yes."

"Then I accept, Captain. When do you want me to come, Sir?"

He successfully disguised his immediate response to her words. He had thought that his brusque business-like demeanor would have negative consequences. Instead, his coldness and aloofness had not seemed to matter to her.

"Have the Carter leave you at SB 15 when your current mission is finished. My staff will make the arrangements for your transportation to Farpoint Station. We will also arrange for Wesley's transportation to the station as well. When the Enterprise is launched, Farpoint Station will be her first mission. Approximate Star Date 40759.5 is the anticipated launch date. We will rendezvous with you there at about that time. If you need anything to facilitate your transfer or the set up of your sick bay, please contact my staff. You may review the recommendations that Starfleet Medical has made for your staff. If you have any corrections, additions or rejections, Lieutenant Commander Data will handle it as well as your logistics."

"Understood, Captain. And Jean-Luc, it is good to see you again." With that she signed off.

Picard stared at the blank screen wondering how he could have uttered such punctilious words to a woman that he had once loved with a fierce, blood fermenting, soulful passion.

In the quarters that Beverly had called home for many months, she stared at her screen, dismayed that she could have made such a life-altering choice in barely a minute. There was only one reasonable explanation; one justification that could be summed up in three little words.

Jean.

Luc.

Picard.

Jack's best friend.

The man that had ordered her beloved to his death.

The man who has escorted home her husband's body.

The man who was now becoming her commanding officer.

Could she stand it?

Was fate vicious or benevolent?

She didn't know.

Why had she agreed so readily. Sure, it was the Enterprise. But, there were other ships, other CMO postings.

Then there was the matter of Jean-Luc. She had so many unresolved emotions concerning him. And then there was that truth that she had barely acknowledged within herself - he had bedeviled her since the first time she'd ever set her eyes on him. Something primal - visceral - within her, responded to him. Some part of her soul had always been tempted by the man hiding behind his aloof masque of command.

Damn him.

Picard deliberated with himself. There had been no instinctive lustful response at the sight of Beverly's face on the screen. Her voice hadn't stirred any unbidden passions. He sighed. Relieved. Relaxing. His rational mind was convinced. He was immune. He was captain. And he also was a great fool.

Two suites away from Picard's office, Counselor Troi was startled and then troubled by the emotions that she was feeling from her new commanding officer. She had suspected that he loved someone deeply. But now she was trying to understand his great feelings of grief, relief, regret and…anticipation.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard entered his outer office with a vigorous stride, ignored the various yeomen trying to snare his attention with waving padds and printed messages, and then barked at Mildred, "Send Admiral Wiley the following message: Commander Data is my second officer. And that I will not grant any personal interviews tomorrow, though I will attend his press conference."

"Coconut chocolate chip, Boss?" was Mildred's response. "No walnuts."

She proffered the cookie tray.

His glare was glacial.

Mildred was far from being intimidated by him. She countered with, "Kentucky Bourbon?"

He stopped dead still, his shoulders moving as if he were surrendering to the inevitable. Or he was silently laughing.

"Mildred, promise me something."

"What, Johnny?

"That you apply for a job with Holt if you won't come with me to the Enterprise."

"Lordy, you captains have such quadrant-size egos. What makes you think that I want to come with you? You're no prize."

He harrumphed. "You deserve to work for Wiley. I promise you that you're personnel report will carry an accounting that will accurately describe your attributes."

"Wait till you see what I'll write in your review."

He ignored her as he returned to his inner office. She trailed after him, closing the door behind her.

"By the way…"

One did not need to be a Betazed to know that he was really annoyed that she had followed him into his inner sanctum uninvited.

"…Reporters are staking out your quarters. Maybe you'd better sleep here, tonight. Your closet has a couple of dress and duty uniforms that I got from your favorite Saville Row tailor. Everything else you might need - including the bourbon - is in your apartment."

"There are reporters staking out my quarters? Why?"

"Your news, Johnny. And now that you're captain of the Enterprise, you always will be news whenever you come to Earth. I've written some extemporaneous answers to the questions that the reporters will ask tomorrow."

"I will not answer any reporter's questions."

"Guess again, Johnny. Sooner or later you're going to have to. And when it comes to Winnie's officers, sooner is much better than later. Stick to my script and you won't make too many mistakes."

Picard warily eyed the lady. Then he reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Saurian brandy.

Mildred went and picked up two crystal low-ball glasses from the credenza. Then she placed them in front of Picard.

"Good publicity is part of the job description, Johnny. Learning how to cope with that aspect is one of the reasons why Winnie asked me to take this job. Winnie knew it was one area in which you did not excel."

"They don't exactly offer a class in dealing with reporters at the Academy."

"Actually, they always have. But only for cadets interested in going into the bureaucracy. Or the Diplomatic Corps." She saw his grimace. "And yes, I know such a career path is anathema to you. But if you don't play nicely with reporters, Winnie might make taking a public relations course mandatory for all command track officers. Imagine how many friends that will win ya if Winnie lets it slip that the course is being forced on command officers because of your inadequacies."

Picard poured the brandy.

"Are you sure that you don't run Starfleet Command, and everything else is just a façade?"

Mildred didn't answer him. She only smiled. But she did accept her brandy. She drank it in one gulp.

"By the way, Tasha didn't sleep in her quarters last night."

His outrage was immediate. "How dare you investigate Lt. Yar's personal life!"

Even newly-promoted Lt. S'Rock perceived the captain's fury - not that he was eaves-dropping. It was only a mere coincidence that he was standing next to the door, and that his hearing was more sensitive than most Terrans.

"I'm no snoop!" Mildred feistily declared, her voice rising to decibel levels that were normally associated with conversations with a Klingon. "Bardy asked her to marry him."

"And… Tasha's response?" His speech was clipped, concealing his stunned reaction.

"I thought you knew that I don't gossip." Mildred wasn't quite ready to openly admit to all of her vices.

"Mildred," he stated in such a firm tone of voice that it was a warning that she dare not ignore.

"She's just exactly like you. Starfleet till the day you drop. You already know what her answer will be."

"What does this Bardick Jones do?" Picard tried to make his inquiry sound artless.

"Jean-Luc, after Bardy graduated from the Academy, he served six months at SB 42. Then he resigned to pursue a rather successful career as a sculptor. He does those giant geometrical winged thingies that admirals and ambassadors like to put in plazas in front of buildings to make themselves feel important. And that they are doing something important by supporting the art committees instead of their own egos."

"If I ever become an admiral, I will make sure that you will head up such a committee for me."

Mildred walked over to the credenza and ate one of her own cookies. "Goes surprisingly well with Saurian brandy," she muttered. Then she stood in front of Picard. "Unless you're going to be adding some sort of good will arts and crafts council to the staff of the Enterprise, I don't think you're going to find a posting for the man on board her."

"Tasha won't accept him, then." Picard tried not to make his relief seem obvious.

"Love works in mysterious ways, Jean-Luc. As you should know."

Jean-Luc ignored this comment, knowing the mettle of his security officer. "With Tasha, it's just something that she has to work out of her system."

"Pity you didn't choose to work her into yours."

Mildred walked out of the room before Picard could even think to roar. She caught S'Rock eavesdropping. "You know, Vulcan, you've got potential."

Half an hour later Picard put in a call to the officer he had chosen as his first officer. He had best contact Riker before the news of his new command spread to the far reaches of the galaxy.

"Captain Picard?"

Lt. Commander William Thomas Riker was on the view screen, hiding his surprise at this unsolicited sub-space communication. "What can I do for you, Sir?" His words were enunciated crisply, respectfully. And with deference because of what he knew about this man.

"Lt. Commander Riker, I am Jean-Luc Picard, attaché to Admiral Winston Holt Wiley." Picard's voice was neutral, still assessing the officer before him.

"I know, Sir." Riker's voice was dispassionate, too. He'd heard a great deal about this man who'd lost the Stargazer lately.

"I want you to join my staff. With another step promotion, naturally. Acceptable?"

Riker hid his revulsion at the prospect of working with bureaucrats in their home territory.

"I think not, Sir. I do appreciate the offer, Sir. But, I think that I rather prefer starships over Starfleet operations."

"So do I," Picard calmly replied, mildly amused.

"What, Sir?" Picard's words caught him off guard. Riker was suddenly wary. After all, this man was a captain with a stellar reputation for doing the unexpected, in spite of recent events. And he did have a maneuver named after him.

"Prefer starships."

It was the way Picard said it. Suddenly, Riker's gut instincts told him something.

"If that's the case, then I'm all in, Sir."

"Without even knowing what cards you've been dealt?"

"Finding out is half the fun, Captain."

"So it is, Mr. Riker. So it is." He paused for a moment, quite willing to let Riker stew for a few seconds more. "I am the new captain of the Enterprise."

Riker whistled.

"Care to be my first officer, Commander?"

"Even though you've never met me?" Riker's demeanor was now matter-of-fact.

Picard was impressed by Riker's self-control as the man he had chosen for his first officer revealed no obvious reaction to his offer. But he suspected that inwardly, the man was dumb-founded.

"Yes, Commander. If you're willing, you can join the Enterprise when we arrive at Farpoint Station. It you agree, my staff will make the arrangements."

Riker nodded slightly, recognizing that he had just been provided with a chair at the big game he'd been waiting to play for all of his life.

"I would be honored to be your first officer, Captain Picard," he formally answered. "I'll be waiting for you at Farpoint Station."

In spite of Riker's unemotional poker face, Picard sensed the man's jubilation. He had a similar sentiment coursing through his veins as well. "Agreed, Number One. See you at Farpoint." Picard was about to sign off when he saw a question forming on Riker's face.

"Sir?"

Will Riker had to know. He was only a newly-promoted lieutenant commander in a field filled with hundreds of ambitious full commanders. And now he was being offered another promotion?

"Yes, Commander?"

"Why me?"

"One day, I might even be tempted to tell you. As of 2100 hours today, Federation Standard Time, you hold the rank of full commander. Picard out."

And with this remark, Jean-Luc Picard ended the sub-space communication. When the screen cleared he added to himself, "And you owe a Klingon and a helmsman a drink." He was looking forward to formally meeting his new Number One.

Almost on the other side of the galaxy, Will Riker whooped. And whooped again. He hadn't felt this excited in years. He was about to become the first officer of the finest ship in the galaxy. When the elation finally settled into a dull buzz, he pulled Picard's records. All that he could access. Riker never liked going into a poker game without knowing the strengths and weaknesses of the players.

And on Earth, a Betazed counselor felt her Imzadi's joy. And smiled because of it.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Surprisingly, Picard weathered Wiley's press conference rather well. He managed to project the image of a competent, confident starship captain without even realizing it. He had followed Mildred's script in answering reporter's questions, and was pleased that he had not embarrassed himself - or Admiral Wiley.

The next day, Picard acknowledged that they were in the home stretch. He'd ordered all of the officers and crew who were not being met at Farpoint Station, to be on board the Enterprise days before her official launch. System drills, quintuple checks of systems, diagnostics at all levels, and the tracking down of gremlins and glitches were par for the course. Picard noted that Geordi LaForge seemed to spend more time in engineering than on the bridge, though.

No one slept in.

Because of Starfleet traditions, he could not personally set foot on board his ship until the ship was ready to be launched. But Commander Data was on board her. Picard oversaw everything with his second officer's assistance.

Picard tried to hide his dismay at Deanna Troi's choices of a grey counselor body suit or the "skant" mini-skirt outfit as her choice of uniforms. It was not his place to correct her for her choice of uniforms. He was far more concerned about substance than form. Though why such a beautiful woman would deliberately choose such ugly clothing bothered him personally. Even though he tried to be the embodiment of a civilized officer, he still was a French man. He noticed fashion. And he knew what looked good on women.

All of Picard's things were moved on board to the captain's quarters.

And a few of the office staff were offered positions as well through Mr. Worf's recommendations. Though Mr. Worf was disappointed that more of the auxiliary staff had not been added. He had come to enjoy having an army of support staff. Though Worf was mollified when Picard did assign him two yeomen and three ensigns.

Mildred formally refused to join Jean-Luc giving as her reason that if God had meant for her to fly in space, homo sapiens would have evolved with solar panel glider wings and vacuum-proof heads.

Mildred also threatened to send cookies.

To Mr. Worf.

Picard heartily recommended Mildred for a position with the Federation president's office, little dreaming how this move would prove to be beneficial when future favors were requested.

What Picard hadn't realized was that his personal chef from the Asimov and his barber had requested posting on the Enterprise. They had promised Mildred to look out for him…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Lt. Yar personally piloted the shuttlecraft that took Picard to his ship for the first time. The actual launching ceremonies were scheduled for later on this afternoon. For a while, before all the admirals and guests had assembled Picard had some available time. Picard walked for the first time into the captain's ready room. He sat behind his desk, and allowed himself the luxury of personal indulgences. Finding a box of his mementoes, Picard placed his rare edition print version of the Works of Shakespeare under a glass display case. He placed his Lycassian thimble on a ledge. The quartz shard that had nearly killed him on Sarthong V, he positioned on his desk. And then he hung Admiral Wiley's gift of a portrait of the Enterprise 1701-D on an interior bulkhead.

His door chimed.

"Come."

Picard was annoyed by this interruption, though his voice did not convey such an impression.

Worf stood there, hesitant, at his door.

"Come in, Mr. Worf." Picard sighed deeply. He was still discovering just how interesting a race Klingons were.

"Sir. Captain. That is…"

"What is it, Mr. Worf?" Picard was trying not to take his mood out on this officer.

Worf drew his Klingon mantle of dignity about him. "I have something for you, Captain. A Gift of Beginning."

"What?" Picard controlled his surprise at Worf's words.

"There is a Klingon tradition that when a captain assumes a new ship, certain gifts be given to honor his ascension."

"What, Mr. Worf?" Picard was somewhat disconcerted by these words. He'd never considered the possibility of Klingons bearing gifts before.

Worf turned briefly and picked up something from the other side of the door jamb. He brought forth a glass container. "Sir, my gift to you in honor of your new command. It is a fish."

Picard was at a loss for words. He was taken by complete surprise. In his wildest imagination, he would have never considered the idea of Worf knowing what a goldfish was, much less giving him such a fish.

Picard studied the colorful, graceful Australian lionfish, swimming as if it hadn't a care in the universe. "Mr. Worf. What am I supposed to do with this fish?"

"It is for contemplation, Captain. Sometimes, especially before a battle, it is useful to have something upon which to focus in meditation." Worf stepped back, grunting. "And, if it becomes necessary, the fish can be eaten."

Picard's soon-to-become-legendary self-discipline was in full operating mode as he responded to Mr. Worf's gesture calmly. His gut reaction had been to laugh, but that would not have been dignified under the circumstances.

"Mr. Worf, I accept your gift in the spirit with which it is given.. Thank you, Lieutenant."

He picked up the aquarium, and placed it on a column near his star portal.

"We shall place this fish here, Mr. Worf."

He looked at Worf who still seemed a touch uncomfortable in his presence. "Is that acceptable? I will order engineering to adapt a stand for it, if it is."

"Yes, Captain." And for the first time, there was a suggestion of voluntary respect in Worf's attitude.

Picard noted it. And now, he had a damned fish that he had to care for in order to maintain his fragile bond with Mr. Worf.

Picard had never been very good with small pets and little children. He hoped that he wouldn't accidentally kill this fish too soon.

"His name is Winston Livingstone," Worf added.

Picard nearly lost his dignity with this pronouncement. He choked his involuntary laugh into a cough.

Klingons named their pets?

He had to know.

"Why?"

Worf paused for a moment. "It seemed… appropriate. A legendary explorer and an admiral."

Picard shook his head in disbelief, pleased to learn that his Klingon had a sense of humor. Not that he'd ever tell Admiral Wiley about his piscine namesake.

"Indeed, it is an appropriate name. Thank you. I appreciate your gesture, Mr. Worf."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Winston Holt Wiley's smile was victorious. He glanced about the gathering, pointedly staring at ever admiral in the group that had opposed him at one time or another, and reveled in the moment. He had won.

Picard was the captain of the flagship of the fleet. And there wasn't a damn thing that any of these smiley-faced admirals could do about it now. Wiley lived for such victories. He had outmaneuvered them all. The fact that he had used Picard to do it was beside the point.

And Picard knew it. The captain stiffly nodded as the launching ceremonies proceeded. Picard watched with some sense of irony, as the button was pushed that would launch a bottle of Château Picard champagne into Utopia Planetia space. Eventually the jeroboam size bottle would smash against the side of the Enterprise's nacelle.

"And I give you her captain, Jean-Luc Picard," Wiley proudly crowed.

"Thank you, Admiral." Picard stepped up next to the admiral.

Then Wiley formally announced to the computer, "Create and grant captain's command functions to Jean-Luc Picard, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise, 1701-D. Alpha, Omega, Wiley, Beta Two three."

"I accept command." Then Picard recited his command codes.

"Command codes accepted and granted to Captain Jean-Luc Picard," the computer intoned.

After the polite clapping was over, most of the crowd headed toward the buffet.

Picard stood to one side of a table, in the large cargo bay that had been temporarily converted into a reception area. He was alone, observing the dignitaries devour. When it came to free food, some things never change.

"You'll be the best captain ever was of the Enterprise, you know."

Picard wheeled about, reacting strongly to her words. He faced Guinan.

"What?"

He didn't disguise the fact that he was very pleased to see her. And the smile that he gave her was a rare gesture for him; it was warm, and surprising heartfelt.

"You will be the greatest captain of the Enterprise - any Enterprise."

"Guinan it is good to see you. But I wish that you would not overstate. The ship is great. I am not. I will be content if I do her no harm."

His words were dignified. But she knew better. This was Guinan, after all.

She snorted. "Right. You're an ordinary guy and I am only a barkeep."

"I didn't know that. When did you aspire to becoming a barkeep? The last I heard, you claimed to be an unsung bard of Vorgon poetry."

She glared at him but didn't respond to his opinion of her poetical talents. "One day, I'll be joining you on board this beauty, Jean-Luc. You'll be needing me. And you'll pay for doubting me then. I will reveal a little bit more of my talents to you." She understood why he scowled at her. "But, not right away. One of my cousins in planning on paying me a visit real soon, and I have no intention of being here when he shows up. You'll just have to show him the door yourself."

"What?" Guinan had often spoken nonsensically to him. But usually she explained herself, sooner or later.

"I have to go interfere in lots of other people's lives before I get around to tending to yours."

He filed this bit of information away, but refrained from asking anything rude. "You're going to join me on the Enterprise?" She nodded. "When?"

"You'll see me when you see me. I'll be there when you're in need. In the meantime, get to know your ship and her crew." She grinned at him, the answers to the questions of the universe hiding behind the twin mirrors of her fathomless dark eyes. "For whatever reason, the gods chose you to make a difference, Jean-Luc Picard. Your brother should thank those ancient ones that you were never meant to be a vintner. You were meant to be what you now are."

She walked away.

Picard chased after her.

"Guinan… about Mildred."

She turned, and arched a hairless eyebrow, as if she knew something that he didn't.

Picard sensed that she was conveying something to him beyond mere words.

"Merde. Guinan wait!"

"Can't, Picard. Places to go. People to vex. 'Til we meet again."

She disappeared into the crowd, her somewhat conservative grey hat flapping with each stride.

Certainly not for the first time, Picard cursed her under his breath. "Damn that infernal woman!" For a brief second, he even meant it.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc Picard formally took command of his ship. With unbounded pride, he entered his bridge, tossing out a crisp order, "Ensign, set course toward Farpoint. Let's see what's out there. Engage."

Then he looked at it. Studied it. Critiqued it artistically. And then dauntlessly went toward it. It had been calling to him all his life.

Captain Picard sat down in the most important chair on this ship - his chair. The captain's chair. He took a deep breath and briefly permitted the exaltation to swell within his heart for finally achieving his life's goal. For everything that he'd given up, now, this moment, was worth it.

He was in command.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard surveyed every command function from his brand new desk.

He was the captain. And the captain of the greatest ship in the Federation. He tried not to reveal his excitement, but it was part of what he was now. And part of him admitted, he finally had the power. For the first time he accepted the need for political machinations. He disdained such intrigues. But in order to protect his ship, his Enterprise, he would do whatever was necessary.

He tapped his comm panel. After a while, the image of his sister-in-law, Marie Picard appeared upon his view screen.

"Jean-Luc! I've just learned of your wonderful news. Congratulations!"

Picard's smile was warm. Even though he'd never met Marie, he'd felt as if he'd known her all of his life. He envied Robert his choice in finding a lady with whom a man could actually talk to so easily.

"Merci, Marie. I'm glad that there is at least one Picard who appreciates my success. How is my brother Robert, and Rene?"

"They are fine. And Rene is growing so quickly. If you do not visit us soon, you will never see your nephew as a young boy." She paused, studying him, noticing his weariness. She decided that she had chastised him enough. "And how are you doing, Jean-Luc?"

"Well, Marie."

"You finally have what you have always wanted, Jean-Luc. I am happy for you."

"Marie, no one gets all that they desire." He sighed and correctly guessed the lady's next question. "I promise that I will come and visit very soon."

"You always say that."

"And someday I will fulfill my promise."

Picard hesitated, feeling uncomfortable about having to ask a favor for himself.

"Marie, I have a favor to ask of you. And knowing how Robert appreciates my Starfleet career, I am not sure that I should ask it."

"Ask away, Jean-Luc. I am not Robert, in case you hadn't noticed. And you still own half the winery, in spite of your failure to show up now and then."

"I need a case of wine from the Château. Preferably the '37 champagne if it is still available."

Marie checked her padd. "I've eight cases of it, Jean-Luc. Do you want them all?"

The wine vault that he'd ordered installed in his quarters had yet to acquire some bottles.

"Marie, send two cases to the Enterprise, and a third case to Admiral Winston Holt Wiley at Starfleet Command in San Francisco. And please include a card stating compliments of Jean-Luc Picard."

"Will do, brother-in-law of mine." She smiled. "I am so proud of you. Bon chance, Jean-Luc." She broadened her smile. "And hurry home when you have a need to…"

Picard was pleased that she felt this way. He was even more delighted when her shipment arrived and it included two cases of champagne, one case of the '44 cabernet, one case of the '45 pinot noir rose and one case of the '56 Clos de la Roche. He had enough wine to bribe an entire admiralty if necessary.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard looked about his quarters. He hadn't contemplated making a statement out of the rooms where he would sleep. Yet, it seemed to be one of the many things that was now expected of the Enterprise captain. On the Stargazer, there hadn't been enough room on board the ship for the captain to need to make a statement.

So, he had added a few things to his quarters. He arranged his collection of astral paintings, stored a multitude of books on shelves, stocked his wine vault, displayed the sextant of the 19th century clipper ship Red Jack on its own pedestal, ordered fresh flowers to be brought every other day, and then decided that he had done enough. He was a ship's captain after all, and not a decorator.

He turned toward the glory of the stars, and reverently stood there, looking at the sight. Relaxing, finally on his solitary bed, he let the siren call of the stars enrapture him, as they always did... It was his time now…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Author's Note: The next set of chapters will concern Beverly and the difficulties of having a relationship with her starship captain...


	5. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Beverly's turn.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

The memories of how he had become captain of the Enterprise were sweet. But Picard was too accustomed to living in reality to stray into the past for too long a time. Now, never mind that he'd botched his personal relationships one more time. He should be used to it by now.

Picard thought's returned to his present situation. Beverly was not in his quarters, as he had so hoped. And prayed.

He looked down at the bottle of champagne in the wine stand.

In the stillness of his quarters, barely acknowledging the quiet familiar pulsations of his starship in flight, he contemplated drinking the wine. Perhaps he should commemorate this new chapter, again, of a future with Beverly as only his best friend, and nothing more. He had had such hopes…

Merde. What the hell…

He would not, could not, be the perfect starship captain every second of his life.

He opened the bottle. And ceremoniously poured the sparkling golden champagne into his solitary antique Baccarat diamond cut crystal flute.

Beverly was still foremost in his thoughts. He should have been filling a second flute for her…

Sleeping next to her, by that campfire on Kesprytt, had been torment incarnate. To be so close and yet not to touch - he had been in one of the most difficult positions of his life. He had been forced to treat Beverly as a mere comrade, a companion, when all he had really wanted to do was to rip off her clothes and give her a practical, hot-blooded demonstration of what it meant to have a Frenchman as a lover. His heart ached. So did his body.

One breath of encouragement and he would have enfolded her in his arms.

To tell her his feelings.

To reveal his heart.

He had dared not.

And she did not.

And now, after Beverly had made her position so heart-breakingly clear, he could not.

So, their night together under the stars had been far colder than it should have been. Even if he had spent the hours burning with a passion denied.

Jean-Luc Picard stared into his flute of champagne, watching the columns of bubbles rise. He was actually considering drinking more than his usual three-glass limit tonight…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly Crusher paced about the quarters that she had once shared with Wesley. She was a textbook depiction of classic frustration.

She mechanically followed her bedtime routine. She watered her flowers and snipped away dead leaves. She bathed and then smoothed lavender scented lotion into her skin. She added an Aldanian purple liqueur to a tea cup. And then she ordered a pot of her favorite ginger tea.

All of these actions were meant to calm her nerves. But nothing was working.

Jittery, nothing relaxed her. Even the soothing ritual of preparing her nightly ginger tea had not done its customary job.

As she sipped her tea, she recalled Earl Grey tea and the man who drank it. She swore out loud. Why did her every thought have to return to Jean-Luc Picard tonight?

Her reflections went a-jumble again. She couldn't forget his damned dreams. Memories of them flooded through her thoughts with a dismaying intensity. And an ever increasing frequency. His dreams were so vivid, so creative and so erotic. She was no prude, but she could have never envisioned the scope of Picard's inventiveness at such a basic human pursuit. What he'd imagined doing to her body with the simplest of everyday items revealed a sensual side to his nature which she had never consciously admitted existed. And he had displayed a treasury of knowledge that even in spite of her former married state or medical education, she had never experienced. When it came to sex, Jack had been somewhat conventional. But the things Jean-Luc wanted to do to her with a single red rose were far more erotic than anything that Jack - or Odan - had ever conceived.

She was intrigued.

Tempted.

Her nipples tightened.

"Oh, lord, no…" she moaned.

Her fanciful day-dreaming was accomplishing something. She was aroused.

His KesPrytt dreams had been so erotic, so filled with impressions of highly passionate discourse, that Beverly just couldn't put them out of her mind. His thoughts had imprinted themselves on her nerves, her body and her dreams.

She closed her eyes, lost in the ways his tongue had wanted to trace the nerves of her body. She shuddered, as flashes of heated need tap danced through her veins. She could not think of anything else. She moaned, struggling to suppress the desires within.

Fingers and holoprograms would not satisfy her needs - not tonight.

What were her choices?

She started toward her door.

An instinctive response.

But, how could she really do it?

The erotic images continued to plague her.

Tongues tangling. Thighs being worshipped. Fingers stroking, wet with…

Beverly shook herself. She was reacting like an adolescent awakening to sensual possibilities, as if in the thralls of her first major crush.

Crush.

Crusher.

"Oh Lord…!" she cursed.

Jack.

She sat in a heap on her couch, not caring about anything. Only remembering that once she had been Jack Crusher's loving wife. And that Jean-Luc Picard had been his commanding officer. And best friend.

She had almost…

Yet…

Slowly her memories surfaced about Jack's opinions of death and the dangers of being married Starfleet officers. She recalled Jack's words about loving again if something should happen to him

Loving again… The problem was, it really wasn't again. She'd always been afraid that it might be still. She'd always loved Jean-Luc in some elemental way since the very first time she'd met him.

She remembered that first time…


	6. Mon Coeur

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

…The noise level in the Blue Parrot Bar on Sarona VII was growing to riotous levels. The slender gentleman with a commanding presence ignored the cacophony. Even though he was dressed in a dark blue shirt and slackes, to a discerning observer, it was obvious that he was some sort of officer. He was waiting by a wooden table across from the main entrance next to the outdoor patio areas.

Jean-Luc was in a good mood. It had been a long time since he'd felt this relaxed. And considering the quality of the house burgundy wine that he was drinking, he was actually truly enjoying himself. Soon he would be meeting his friend and fellow officer Jack Crusher. And find out what the surprise was that Jack had been hinting about for a few days.

In the meantime he was anticipating five whole days of shore leave. He planned on doing nothing during the next few days that could be considered 'captainly'. He was going to tour the local museums and archaeological digs, find a few friendly poker games, and rent a fine thoroughbred on a planet that was known for breeding great race horses. Though his plans could be altered if a beautiful lady or two crossed his path.

And then he saw her. She was standing in the doorway to the bar, looking a bit confused.

Even as he placed down his goblet, he saw the predators eyeing her as she took a tentative step into the bar.

She was breathtakingly beautiful. Amazingly beautiful. Erotically beautiful. 

She knew that she looked good in her shimmering ruby silk sheath. The dress was tight in all the right places, and alluring with a thigh high split on both sides that revealed glimpses of her dancer's legs encased in copper silk stockings. She was also wearing brand new, ridiculously high ruby sequined heels.

Beverly had donned her finest evening dress to meet her fiancé and to be introduced to his friends for the very first time. As a woman who had spent most of her medical school years worrying about everything but the way that she looked, she found the fact that she had spent almost two hours preparing for tonight's date most astonishing.

She hoped she looked as good as she felt.

Evidently she did, because the lewd offers started the moment she walked towards the bar. The local wolves were circling. Some males just propositioned her. Some were more insistent offering everything from the local favorite illegal drugs to a few surprisingly high credit offers.

And when she moved, Jean-Luc's eyes widened as he realized that the back of her dress was missing, exposing creamy skin with a tantalizing hint of all else that might be uncovered by a persistent, fortunate lover.

And the captain of the Stargazer immediately decided to alter his shore leave plans.

Her long titian hair was flipping about her shoulders as she kept glancing around, looking for a face - now, any familiar face as she noted how she intently she was being ogled by a variety of predatory males.

She saw citizens of many worlds. But there wasn't a Starfleet uniform in sight. She glanced at the dancers on the elevated clear aluminum stages, noticing that some of the male and female performers actually appeared to have some sort of dancer's training. They were bedecked in glowing gems, electric beads, singing feathers, and tired, come-hither-for-a-price smiles. Nothing more.

But as for Jack, he wasn't watching them. In fact, he wasn't anywhere in sight.

She kept looking around the crowded, smoky main room. The bawdy atmosphere of this place blended in with the decadent 'all vices for the right prices' atmosphere of this planet; a world with its well-known reputation as a place to hold a shore leave, where few, if any restraints were known and laws actively enforced. Gambling, racing, drugging, fornicating, and food. All were readily available.

She still couldn't see any Starfleet personnel in this area at all.

Beverly mentally girded herself for the gauntlet, as she pulled her ruby and rust silk stole higher up about her bare shoulders, trying to cover up her décolletage. She was displaying more cleavage than what she normally would have revealed. She stopped walking, suddenly wary about trying to sit at the bar. Her eyes had adjusted to the lower lighting, and she was now noticing a stairway that led to an upper floor that no doubt had all sorts of rooms available. By the hour.

A scaly hand snaked about her waist, twisting her face to face with a Cardassian gul.

"Name your price," the gul commanded, even as she stiffened against this unwanted embrace.

Suddenly another hand grabbed her arm, pulling her out of Cardassian arms.

"Darling…" a calm voice proclaimed. It was a voice full of authority. And steely warning. "I am sorry that I was late."

She didn't recognize the voice. Or the balding man who was now possessing her left arm pulling her against his torso. She didn't particularly wish to be rescued by a white knight even if he did have a well-toned, sinewy body. She could deal with the Cardassian by herself. But before she could pull herself together to voice a protest, he swirled her onto the dance floor. She didn't recognize the music but her dance partner started guiding her as if it were a samba. After a few beats, her steps started matching his. Then he pulled her close - a lot closer. Their thighs brushed.

She stared into his eyes, her gaze full of questions. And it also held a touch of relief that she didn't have deal with a difficult Cardassian.

He gave her his answer, staring into her eyes as well. For a long moment he found himself lost in the mystery of her even as he wondered exactly what it was that he had just discovered.

The Beverly Howard that had been the recipient of such looks in the past should have been insulted. But somehow, instinctively, she knew that his look was different. She was responding to it differently. He desired her. She felt it viscerally.

Feelings that she refused to correctly identify coursed through her veins.

He leaned into her, as his fingers stroked down her lower spine to rest at the small of her back, reveling in the scented warmth of her skin.

Wherever he touched, her skin felt on fire. No man - not even Jack - had ignited such a blaze before.

What the devil was he doing to her? Was she drugged somehow?

He let the rush of erotic intoxication flood over him as the pads of his fingers explored exposed silken delights. He sighed with pleasure. She was bewitching him. He felt rather than heard her reciprocating sigh. They danced for a while, instinctually moving together as one.

"Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?"

She gulped. She would have never taken a bet that anyone in this bar even knew who Shakespeare was much less could quote the Bard. She forced her lips to move even as she pulled away a bit from the heat of his body; from his already growing possessiveness

"As You Like It?"

He abruptly stopped moving for a moment, rather surprised that she had recognized the quote. "Educated, too…" he murmured against her right earlobe. And then he nipped it.

She couldn't control her shuddering at this touch. And then he did it again. And she felt a need growing within her. She only knew that she longed for something more. Way beyond more. His light touch was hinting about something outside of what she had ever experienced. It convinced her of one thing.

She wanted him.

He broke the contact between their bodies. She murmured in protest. And then he put a few centimeters of space between them.

"The Cardassian," he warned, "he's arguing with the Nausicaans."

Beverly turned her head to look at the group by the bar. The Cardassian stared at her as if she'd just accepted his last offer.

"Merde…" He stiffened, and tried to guide her towards the edge of the glowing dance floor. They didn't make it.

The Cardassian stopped them, followed by three angry Nausicaans. "You. I your have credits. We mate!"

Beverly instinctually moved closer to her Sir Gallahad.

"The lady is not for hire."

The Cardassian ignored the man and grabbed her upper arm.

Her Starfleet defense training came into play. She move a step closer to the Gul and then she flipped him. The Cardassian landed against the Nausicaan, spilling the Nausicaan's drink all over him. Unfortunately, for the Cardassian, all of the other Nausicaans started to laugh.

The Cardassian groggily stood up, punching immediately at the closest body to him.

Picard took advantage of his off-balance movements and shoved the Cardassian into the crowd. Then Picard grabbed the lady's arm and dragged her out the patio doors into the darkness.

And so the brawl began.

Jean-Luc pulled her into the shadows even as he warily watched the melee in the bar. So far, it had not spilled out into the patio and gardens.

"We'd better get out of here," she suggested.

He stiffened, and then really looked at the woman he was still holding in his arms.

"You attacked a Cardassian. And a Nausicaan. Are you utterly mad?"

"What else was I supposed to do? The patQ! grabbed me!"

"Have you no sense, woman?"

Jean-Luc shouldn't have said that. For her response was to swiftly kiss him. "No," she announced before she kissed him again. "I've no sense at all, tonight." And her ploy worked. Her kiss did shut him up.

The erotic conquering of his senses that followed the yearning touch of her soft lips to his, stunned him. Seconds later he was on his back in a flower bed, crushing fragrant blossoms as she kept on kissing him even as she now was pressing herself against him - on top of him.

She braced her palms against his chest. And raised herself up by her forearms to look squarely down at him. All she could see was his face in the dappled lighting. And then the clouds cleared for a moment. She was lost in his gaze.

"No. I don't believe that I have any sense at all. tonight," she succinctly repeated. "Otherwise I wouldn't be kissing you at all. Again." Her long hair brushed against his chest and then his neck as she lowered her head again. This time, he dominated. Searching hands stroked through silken hair, pulling her head even closer. And when she lifted her head again, he froze. For he realized who she was and what she was to him now. She was the most impossibly beautifully, incredibly reckless redhead that he'd ever had the misfortune to meet.

He felt himself falling in love with her.

She tried to sit up. "I still shouldn't be kissing you," she warned.

He wouldn't let her rise. He stared at her in wonderment, simply accepting the rush of what he was feeling. Doubts, questions, problems - he'd deal with all of that later on. Right now, he was just beginning to recognize that he was the potential recipient of a precious gift that had eluded him most of his life - love. Now, with this flame-haired beauty, there was the possibility that his heart had finally found its home.

He heard something. Analyzed it. And acted. Suddenly he moved. Swiftly he stood, pulling her back into his arms.

"The brawling - it's getting closer. Let's move somewhere safe. More private."

Even as she pulled herself together enough to actually listen to the noise from the bar which was now encroaching upon the large patio, he led her away from the commotion through pathways lined with tall tropical trees and shrubbery.

There was a loud crack. "Damn!" She stumbled. "Broke my heel!"

He didn't commiserate, or comment. Instead, he threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and started moving at a much faster pace.

She would have protested, but she heard just how close the sound of drunken, angry voices were coming to them.

He darted through the shadows, brushing by the hedging. A few sudden turns, and she unexpectedly found herself plopped on to a chaise lounge in the middle of a small gated patio, hidden behind a variety of tropical foliage.

"Where are we?"

"My suite," he whispered as he walked over to the intricate wrought metal gate, locking it. And then he waited to see if anyone approached. After a few minutes, and with the sound of the revelry staying in the vicinity of the Blue Parrot, he breathed a sigh of relief, and relaxed.

He returned to her arms. She kissed him again. And again.

And then he was kissing her, with a deep thirst. And she was kissing him back with an equal fervor.

At some point - she never quite knew when or what really triggered it - their kisses went beyond mere carnality and turned into some unnamed ravening hunger that threatened to consume all that she was and all that she ever would be.

His fingers searched. Her fingers stroked. They were intimately touching each other. His lips worshipped her breasts. Her fingers stroked his manhood through the soft fabric of his slacks. For a while, the mindless staggering pleasure was shocking enough. Then, incredibly, a little bit of sanity intruded. She stilled her touch. And tried to breathe.

After a while, he noticed that she had stopped ravishing him. Raising his head to look only at her, noting everything about her even in his alcoholic, mildly befuddled state, he moved a slight bit away from her, though she was still within the strong embrace of his arms.

"What is it, mon coeur?" His voice was calm, quietly soothing.

"Please. Let me go." She hated the fact that her voice sounded weak, but it was the best defense against him that she could muster.

For a while, he couldn't.

"Are you sure?"

Her arms were still entwined about his neck. She nodded into his chest, not having the strength of will to look at him, praying that he would let her go. Or was she praying that he would never let her go?

His fingers lingered a moment as they slid over the soft flesh of her bosom. And then he released her, rose, adjusted his clothing for some semblance of decency, and then walked away from her to stand by the door to his suite.

He could still hear the sounds of the brawl. "I cannot let you go back out there. I've done battle with Nausicaans and Cardassians before. Unless the shore leave patrol has improved greatly on this planet, it will be a while before the local constabulary attempt to stop this melee." He spoke casually, as if moments before they had not been locked in a blazing embrace of stunning passion. He turned and coolly gazed at her. Yet, his look held something else - indefinable as if he were memorizing every iota of her being. And then, in the low lighting from the Tiki-type torches, he noted the condition of her clothing. His questing hands had done some of the damage. And there were rips from where the Cardassian had grabbed her.

"Your dress…"

Beverly looked down at her lap. And realized that the split of her sheath was much, much higher than it had been from when she'd first donned the dress. And her would-be lover had probably caused it. Her skin still tingled from the stroking of his hand across her upper thighs. She noted other problems with her attire. She stood, trying to rearrange her clothing into something she could wear beyond this patio. She wasn't having much success.

The sound of a Starfleet communicator cheeping broke their silence. She looked about for the source. It wasn't from her badge.

He was the one that pulled a communicator out of his pocket.

"Captain?"

"Vigo?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Stand by." Speaking softly, as if what he was saying meant nothing, he asked, "I can arrange to have you beamed safely away from here." His eyes were asking her to stay. But his lips bespoke his duty. "Where?"

Flushing, she thought about both of his offers. She was so tempted by his unasked one, longing to walk into his hotel room dragging him along with her. But she just couldn't.

"Starfleet quarters, East Epsilon-37."

"You're an officer?" He didn't mean to seem incredulous or judgmental, but that was the way it sounded.

Her eyes narrowed. Her voice hardened. "Yes.' She stared at him, as if daring him to say something more.

"And you are?" Again, his voice made his question sound as if it he were questioning the veracity of her statement.

"A doctor." When he didn't comment, she added, "I am a senior intern at Starfleet medical academy, Earth. I'm on leave."

"I would assume so."

Not by a twitch did he reveal his dismay over her explanative words as his mind went into overdrive as he began to deduce her identity.

His communicator beeped again. "Captain?"

"Vigo. Beam the lady standing by me to her quarters." He gave Vigo the directions.

Stunned that he was dismissing her so swiftly, even if only because she wished to demonstrate some righteous indignation over his outlandish treatment of her, she ended up looking at him, her eyes pleading for something indefinable, filled with bewilderment.

"We will meet again," he stiffly informed her as the transporter beam took hold.

When she was gone, he sat back down on the chaise lounge, and thought for a while. Shaking his head, trying to focus his thoughts into sober ones, he considered what he was going to do.

She was a redhead.

She was a doctor.

She was a senior intern at Starfleet Medical.

He didn't have to be a great detective in order to deduce that this lady was his best friend's girlfriend. Jack Crusher had been talking about the incomparable Beverly Howard for months. Incessantly. And Jean-Luc Picard could now understand why. Jack had described all the details about the new woman in his life.

Picard noticed the discarded filmy silk shawl on the flat stones of the patio by the lounge. He picked it up. He wasn't sure if he should return it to the lady. Sometimes it was best not to be reminded of certain indiscretions.

Sitting there a while longer, idly noting that the sounds of the distant brawl were decreasing, he convinced himself that his conduct had been guided by the potency of the wine he'd consumed over the evening. Surely, when he met her again, she would become nothing more than just a mere woman, interchangeable with most of the other women in his life.

But he could still smell the heady seduction of her floral perfume lingering in the night air. And on the shawl he still held in his hands…


	7. My Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Just a reminder - this is an alternate/universe novel. Just about everything past KesPrytt is non-canon, but most definitely P/C. Though there may be similar thematic elements from my other a/u novels THE BEST LAID PLANS and THE SKY IS THE LIMIT, this story is not set in the same universe. In fact, the original story was written before those other novels. However, the version I'm now posting is a greatly expanded and rewritten story. As always, comments would be appreciated.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

IN THE PAST…

In her quarters, Beverly changed into her nightclothes. She looked about the drab living quarters that had been assigned to her for her shore leave on Sarona VII. It was one, lone grey room with sonic shower facilities and a replicator, that was oh so typical of the bottom-of-the-rung officer and student housing that Starfleet provided. Next time, she'd have Jack make the reservations. Command track officers always were booked into the better hotels wherever they went on shore leave.

Jack. 

She trembled at the thought of him. 

And of her personal foolishness, this night.

For a moment, she considered dressing and looking for him. But she didn't have to continue searching for Jack. For he had found her.

Entering her quarters, his first question coming through the door was, "Beverly, where the hell were you?"

She studied the man with whom she shared her bed. He was handsome. He was young. He had a good heart. He was an enthusiastic lover. And he could also be thoughtless, annoying and presumptive. She didn't dare permit her thoughts to dwell upon or compare him to the much older man that she'd encountered tonight. Though she had to force herself not to do so. The two men were light years apart.

So, she considered yelling at Jack even as she tied her thin cotton night robe over her aquamarine nightgown. She considered interrogating him about the disruption of their plans. She weighed the possibility and the foolishness of even asking him if he knew a Starfleet captain losing his hair, who quoted Shakespeare and murmured words of seduction in French after glasses of wine. She then pondered dragging Jack onto her bed, for her frustrated body was still aching for release.

She chose the last option.

"Love me, Jack."

Jack knew better than to object.

Hours later they got around to actually talking to each other.

"Where were you, Jack?"

She sat up, drawing the sheets about them, then turned to study her lover in the low lighting. He looked as sated as she felt.

"I really did try to tell you about my change of plans, Red." For Jack had been on duty, responsible for all of the ship's details in order to let his captain have some uninterrupted shore leave.

"Well, why didn't you comm me?"

He grinned; that wonderful grin that always endeared him to her.

"I did page you. Red. Several times. But I'm not the one who forgot to wear her comm pin, my dear dancing doctor."

"What?" She automatically looked for her pin and saw it sitting where she'd last left it - on her night stand. She'd never pinned it to her dress. "Oh."

Even though the room was dimly lit, Jack correctly guessed that she was blushing.

His fingers rolled around the edge of the bar to the metal headboard, as he wiggled his toes, stretching every muscle in his body. He gave a sigh of pure male satisfaction. And then looked over at Beverly. The next sigh was one of pure male appreciation. This woman was a constant treasure to him.

"I tried calling some of my friends from the Stargazer to tell them that I was stuck in a meeting." His grin got even bigger. "But they couldn't hear me. Seems they were in a brawl going on at the Blue Parrot and it was making a lot of noise."

"Yes, that's true," Beverly warily admitted. She'd learned to distrust Jack's intentions when he grinned this particular kind of smile. And with the way he was eyeing her body, he was clearly not intending to go to sleep any time soon. "A Cardassian started it, I believe."

"Oh, I heard it was caused by one of the captain's women, not that the Captain would admit to it when I talked to him."

"The captain?" she weakly asked, nervously pulling the sheets about, up over her breasts. "Women. More than one?"

"Jean-Luc has been known to have more than one accommodating woman during a shore leave - though he hasn't done that lately."

He thought he saw Beverly stiffen, as if she were pre-judging his friend - and commanding officer.

"You know Jean-Luc is the kind of captain who is always married to his ship. Pity about that. I think he's a very lonely man when he's not being an officer…" His voice trailed off as he watched Beverly swing her legs over her side of the bed. That fate would never befall him. 

Her movements permitted him glimpses of her body that he rather enjoyed observing, bobbing about. For a long moment he was distracted. Then he remembered what he'd been discussing. "Women are always flocking about my captain - even if he decides to ignore them." When she didn't respond, Jack reached over to the nightstand, picked up a bottle from the side of the bed, and poured a double shot of scotch into two mismatched glasses. He silently handed one to Beverly. He noticed that her fingers trembled when she touched his hand, taking the glass from him. He was egotistical enough to smile, thinking that he was the cause of Beverly's response. He was completely misreading Beverly's mood.

Jack continued his observations. "Joe Maxwell - you remember Joe - assigned to tactical on the Stargazer. Well, he was in the bar and called me with all the details about our captain."

"Your junior officer likes to keep you well-informed about your captain's activities?" Beverly was proud that her voice sounded so cool and disinterested to her ears. She then took a small sip of the somewhat ordinary scotch.

"Wait until you meet Jean-Luc. You'll understand when you do. He is such a reserved, remote guy that you'd never guess what a roué he can be sometimes. But the ladies never forget that he is a Frenchman."

Beverly slid out of bed, mentally kicking herself before she kicked aside her discarded nightgown, and then donned her red robe. She sat down on a chair, facing Jack, though she didn't look directly at him. Finishing off her drink, she handed the empty glass to Jack, and looked at the bottle. Jack refilled it.

It took another sip of the liquid courage before Beverly quietly admitted, "I think that I may have already met your Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

The words were casually said, but there was something - a tremor to her voice, perhaps - that put his senses on yellow alert.

He sat up and stared at her. "Jean-Luc Picard is not a man that you can easily forget."

"No, he's not," she quietly agreed.

He considered everything that she was and was not saying. Without revealing any of his trepidation, he too-casually asked, "What happened?"

Beverly smoothed the hem of her robe. Her fingers continued to tremble. "What do you mean?"

"How'd you meet Jean-Luc?"

"Oh." She was silent for a while, and then took a deep breath. And then another.

And Jack began to worry.

"Beverly, I love you." He'd barely whispered the words but she heard them. And with the passing of every silent second, his fears and suspicions began to escalate.

She stood, turning away from him, blindly gazing towards the window.

"You're supposed to say I love you, Jack back at me, Beverly."

"I do love you, Jack."

"But…"

"There was a Cardassian at the bar tonight."

"You were at the Blue Parrot?"

She nodded.

"He started a brawl. I was in the middle of it. A man rescued me." She turned, her eyes pleading for understanding. She was praying that she hadn't destroyed her future. For she had to tell him the truth. It was her way.

"And?"

"I think my white knight was your captain. We never actually had a chance to introduce ourselves."

Jack was shaken to the center of his heart at the thought of Beverly actually admitting to needing a 'white knight'. 

"Oh? What did he look like?"

"He had a way about him as if he were used to command. He's muscular, slender, my height, balding, spoke French and quoted Shakespeare."

Jack made a noise. It sounded like a cross between a muffled laugh and a groan of pain.

She knelt beside him, resting her palms on his hairy thighs.

For the moment, his body ignored her touch.

"That's Jean-Luc Picard all right. He's the only man on this planet who'd quote Shakespeare when meeting a beautiful woman for the first time." He took Beverly's hands into his own, and realized that they were cold. He warmed them with his own.

His kindness and concern for her touched the very core of her heart.

"Then what happened?"

He saw something in her eyes, even before she answered him.

"He threw me over his shoulder, carried me away from the brawl which I sort-of accidentally started, and took me back to his rooms. He dumped me on the patio."

"Onto a chair, I trust."

She didn't smile. "A couch of some sort."

Jack knew Beverly. There wasn't any way that she would have permitted Jean-Luc Picard to do this to her unless she had wanted it to happen. He needed to know more about what happened next.

"And?"

"He kissed me. A few times."

"He hadn't a clue as to your identity?"

"No."

For a while, there was silence between them. Each watched the other, trying to understand what was happening - and facing up to what had happened.

"You kissed him back."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

He had to admire her for her honesty, even if it did hurt every square centimeter of his heart.

"Why?"

She shook her head. "I'm not really sure, Jack. I've been trying to figure it out…"

Again, there was a moment of silence between them. Jack finally rolled away from her and grabbed his uniform pants off of the floor, pulling them on. Then he sat down next to her on the floor, leaning against the side of the metal bed.

"Jean-Luc has been pretty much alone for quite a while now." Jack gazed into Beverly's eyes trying to find words of explanation. For his captain. For himself. And for themselves. 

"He is so detached, now. Isolate. No close lovers…just temporary women. I think I'm the only close friend he'd even claim - aside from Walker Keel."

Beverly slowly rose up from kneeling and then sat back against the side of the bed, close to Jack. She had expected Jack to be mad. To yell. To be jealous.

But this calm recitation of his captain's personal history was a surprise.

Jack lightly touched her lifting her hand and clasping it. His thumb stroked across her knuckles, till he felt her relax.

"Beverly…"

"Yes, Jack."

"I love you."

She welcomed his words even as tears began to glisten in her eyes.

He continued speaking softly, opening up his heart to her. "And in a different way, I love Jean-Luc too. He is my best friend."

"Yes…" she agreed, through the tears.

"If you can't love me…" He gasped a deep breath and then hurriedly spoke as if the quicker that he said his words, the less painful they would be. "…But if you find that you can love Jean-Luc more than me…"

"What?" she protested, not quite believing that she was actually hearing such a self-sacrificing offer.

"If loving Jean-Luc over me would make you happy, Beverly, then it would make me happy too. I only want what's best for you, my love."

"Oh, Jack…" She began to cry, large tears welling then sliding down her cheeks.

Jack kissed them away.

"Beverly, I want only your joy…" Then he smiled the smile that was rapidly becoming to her the most beloved of all of Jack's attributes. "Though I really would prefer it if you did pick me over Jean-Luc…"

She was stunned by his generosity of spirit. And then she knew that she could love him forever. For he loved her the right way - the way that her Nana used to describe as true love.

"I think that I love you more now, Jack Crusher, than I ever thought that I could. Or would." She kissed him with a contentment felt deep within her soul.

"What?" He was bemused even as he kissed her back.

"You silly, wonderful man. You are the man in my life, and you'd better never forget it."

"What about Jean-Luc Picard?"

She snorted at the mention of his name. Her anger wasn't disguised as she explained, "He didn't think that I was the type of person who could be or should be a Starfleet officer."

"What did you say?"

"I'll tell you over breakfast."

"Beverly…"

She laughed. It was a giddy sound. She was relieved that she'd made the right choice for her. And that he'd forgiven her…

Jack pulled her into his arms, lowering her down onto the very thinly padded Starfleet issued dull grey carpeting.

"The bed…" she protested, even as she found the way he kissed her breast to be most distracting.

"Too far away…" he explained, as he made love to her once again that night.

A long time later, when they were finally resting back on top of the bed, she turned in his arms, and whispered, "I did get your book, Jack. I've been meaning to talk to you about it…" She stopped to nibble on his chin for a moment.

"What?" He clearly did not want her to stop her explorations.

"Jack, I love you. So, yes. Let's get married."

"You really do? You really…" She swatted him. "Uh, when?"

"Jack, I'm a doctor who wants to change her last name to Crusher. As soon as possible, if you please. If a doctor taking a last name like Crusher is not an indication of true love, then I don't know what is." Between kisses, she still was laughing.

Jack laughed too as they both fell into each other's hearts for good.

A long time later, right before she fell asleep in her fiancée's arms, Jack mumbled, "But if I'm not around, Beverly, love again. Jean-Luc if you want… If I can't be there, I really mean it when I say that I only want you to be happy…"

She snuggled against his chest twisting the occasional hair, with fingers bent on exploring and mapping every centimeter of her beloved's body. "Yes, Jack. But you'd better make sure that you are the one who makes me happy for a long time to come."

"Yes, dear," he readily agreed. He moved over her so that she was underneath him again. She lifted her hips up so that he could make love to her. "Beverly, remind me one day to tell you what Maxwell told Vigo who told me what Jean-Luc told them about you…"

Beverly stroked him.

And he found better uses for his tongue than talking…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

The next day, Jack returned to the Stargazer to see if he could make new arrangements for his best friend to meet his bride-to-be. Vigo met him in the transporter room, informing him that the captain wanted to see him in his ready room.

Somewhat surprised that the captain actually was on board instead of enjoying his shore leave, Jack entered the miniscule ready room which was only large enough for a screen, a small desk, and two well-worn, comfortable chairs. The room was battered from dozens of space battles. The beige paint to the desk revealed a thousand or more chips around hundreds of unidentifiable stains. Yet, neither Jean-Luc or Jack would have changed a millimeter of it if they'd been given that option.

One look at Jean-Luc's face told Jack that his friend was greatly troubled, and yet was outwardly denying it. By the very lack of expression on the man's face, Jack knew that Jean-Luc had correctly figured out Beverly's identity.

Sure enough, Jack decided, his captain is feeling guilty. Though someone unfamiliar with the man would have never guessed such an emotion was being experienced by the officer considering the man's stoicism.

So it was up to Jack to straighten things out now, before the matter grew into something that could never be resolved.

Jean-Luc Picard should have known by now that he could not intimidate Jack Crusher. Especially when it came to the bonds of their friendship.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Jack, please sit down."

Jack did, and patiently waited.

"The Stargazer will be returning to Utopia Planetia after the first of the year, Jack. For a refitting. The crew will be able to actually use up some of their shore leave on Earth."

"Good." Jack thought for a moment, and then grinned the kind of grin that he knew would greatly annoy his friend. "Then you can be the best man at my wedding to Beverly."

"For what?"

Jean-Luc abruptly turned away from Jack, swiveling his chair to look out his small, lone starport.

"When. I. Marry. Beverly. Howard."

Sunned by Jack's words - and the way that he'd said them - Jean-Luc finally turned to face his friend. Grasping at straws, the captain uttered the first thing that came into his mind. "What about your career?"

"Hmmm…. Beverly or my career. Whichever should I choose? A passionate red head, or an ice cold command chair…" Jack chuckled even as he watched his unflappable captain start to flap - only a little around the edges. But this imperturbable man was definitely beginning to flap…

He took pity on the man. "Jean-Luc, my career will be fine once I marry Beverly. Otherwise, you will have the grouchiest, meanest, cussedest officer this side of a Klingon, if I don't marry her."

"I, uh, would rather not have that," Jean-Luc conceded, even as he stood and stretched out his hand. "The lady is amenable?"

"Yes, captain. Beverly was foolish enough to finally, officially say 'yes' last night."

Something that Jean-Luc might have defined as his heart's home, inside the soul of this captain closed up and shuttered its windows, even as the officer politely and formally stated, "I would be honored to be your best man, Jack."

For a second Jack stood there even as he shook the man's hand, wondering why Jean-Luc had such reservations about Beverly. There was something in his look. His gaze did not quite meet Jack's eyes with the steadiness and openness that Jack was used to seeing in their friendship.

"By the way, thanks for rescuing Beverly last night, old bean."

Jean-Luc didn't dissemble. He sat back down. "You know?"

Jack thought he knew the source of Jean-Luc's tenseness.

"Beverly told me everything, Johnny."

Jean-Luc didn't say anything even as he cynically wondered if that could be true. But Jack studied his friend's face, knowing that when Jean-Luc donned the frost-king aloof demeanor that even a haughty Vulcan would envy, he was hiding something behind it.

Could it be that Jean-Luc really felt that guilty over kissing Beverly? Even if he hadn't known who Beverly was at the time, nothing important had really happened… Or had it?

"Oh, Johnny…" Jack sat back down in his usual chair. "You should know that Beverly is the most openly honest, loving woman that I've ever met. She told me all about what happened last night - including kissing you."

"I see."

For a moment Jack thought that his captain was expecting to get slugged. And for just a nanosecond, Jack considered doing it. But, Jack was Jack. He loved them both.

"Only reason I'm not making an issue out of it is because she told me all the details - and the circumstances about how you had rescued her."

"I see."

"Good." Jack laughed again, using it to hide the fact that he knew his friend was more shaken by his encounter with Beverly Howard that he would ever care to admit.

"Jean-Luc, Beverly is going to notify you of the location for our dinner tonight. This time, she is going to pick the place. I was informed rather succinctly over breakfast, that the Blue Parrot was not a wise choice."

"Even I could have told you that, Jack." Picard thoughtfully considered his friend and the prospective bride. "Are you sure that you want me as your best man?"

"No one else. Beverly insists, too."

"She does?"

"When you really get to know her, Johnny me boy, you'll understand the kind of lady that she truly is."

Privately, Jean-Luc doubted that he would ever get to know Beverly Howard that well. Only years later would he admit to himself about his own personal foolishness.

That evening, a radiant Beverly dressed in a somewhat conservative midnight blue lace cocktail dress, was introduced to Captain Jean-Luc Picard and his senior staff at a restaurant located within the hotel that most admirals preferred to reside in when they were on shore leave.

The captain greeted her with the proper, distant, formal behavior that one would have expected of any man's senior officer. He treated her with civil cordiality, a politeness of bearing and attitude which held not one word or look that could be construed by anyone as improper or too familiar. Only later on, when he was toasting the engagement of this lady to his best friend was there any expression of emotion in his voice.

Jack noticed his friend's very reserved behavior as Beverly was introduced to him. But Jack said nothing. And the suspicions began to grow. Oh, not against Beverly. She was too honest and open with her heart to ever do anything duplicitous when it came to the man she loved. But Jack had spent years observing every nuance of his captain. Jack knew the man as well as the captain. And Jack came to only one conclusion. Somehow, his best friend and commanding officer, had fallen in love with Beverly.

At no point in the future would Jean-Luc Picard ever give words to such a feeling, but Jack knew. And his sorrow was genuine for the man who would not have Beverly. Even as he respected his friend, he understood the depth of this man's loss. For how could he fault Jean-Luc for loving the very woman that he loved as well?

Jack put his arm around Beverly's waist, relishing in the warmth of her presence, and hugged her close. He knew how very lucky he was.

During that evening, for the first time, Beverly encountered the remote, distant façade that was almost as legendary about this captain as was his famous maneuver. It would take her many years to recognize how well Jean-Luc Picard could disguise his real feelings.

Jack got around to introducing Beverly to everyone in the party.

"A pleasure, Dr. Howard," was the captain's courteous greeting as he escorted one of the guests of honor into their private dining room. For Jean-Luc had spared no latinum when he'd communicated to Dr. Howard, earlier in the day, that he was hosting and planning the engagement dinner. It was his duty as the best man.

"I trust that there were no ill effects from your encounter with the Cardassian?"

By his very look and manner, the way that he spoke and observed, told Beverly that so far as Jean-Luc Picard was concerned, he chose not to remember everything that had happened at the Blue Parrot.

Beverly was about to ease the overly formal captain's mind about his behavior when she was hugged from behind, then giddily spun around.

"Walker!" She recognized her bear-hugger. She returned his embrace, genuinely glad to see the man who had introduced her to Jack.

"Beverly…" Walker Keel looked up, studied Beverly, then Jean-Luc, and suddenly developed quite a twinkle in his eye. "So you've finally met the legendary Jean-Luc Picard. Did you fall to your knees in awe?"

Since that was precisely what she'd done the night before in the flower bed, she was flustered for a second.

No one noticed the fire that glowed in the captain's eyes for a brief moment too. Then he pulled his stoic shielf about himself again.

Walker seemingly didn't notice anything, as he continued babbling, "Isn't Johnny here the plague of a dozen world's diplomatic parties? The scourge of ensigns - and medical interns - everywhere?"

"If I can believe what Jack's told me, then yes," she managed to calmly state. She warily eyed Walker. He was well known for his wicked sense of humor and stinging wit. She had a feeling that Walker knew a few things that she did not.

Walked continued his overly-dramatic oration even as he tightened his grip about Beverly's waist. "I'm surprised that Jean-Luc is still in one viable, uninjured, unbloodied piece. Don't tell me that you're losing your touch, Red. I was expecting an evisceration at the very least."

"Whatsoever do you mean?" Her suspicious nature was working overtime as she observed both her fiancée and his captain blench at Walker's casual words.

Walker looked over at Jack. And then over at Jean-Luc. And then he smiled. It was a payback kind of smile.

Beverly observed the looks that all three men exchanged.

"Why Walker, dear, what is really going on?" she ever so sweetly asked.

Jack cleared his throat. "Oh, I believe that it's about something that Jean-Luc said."

Jean-Luc took a step closer to Walker. And away from Beverly. "It was an off-the-cuff remark that I made, Dr. Howard. Last night, I'd had too much wine to drink that was not synthehol. I had forgotten about the loss of control over one's action that real wine could cause…"

Watching him redden as he spoke, Beverly suspected that Jean-Luc Picard rarely if ever found himself in an awkward position. The man obviously wasn't used to it. And he clearly did not care to be placed in such a position at all.

Picard continued, as if he had not noticed that every officer in the room was frozen still, waiting to hear what it was that the captain had said that could cause this man to be so disconcerted.

"I apologize for my unfortunate choice of words." He removed Beverly's arm from about Walker's waist and guided her toward the officers that she had yet to meet, as if the matter between them was finished. "Come and meet the rest of those who have the misfortune of working with Jack, too. Or knowing Walker."

Beverly recognized a sidestep maneuver when she saw one. A man like Jean-Luc Picard did not apologize over nothing in advance. She turned and sternly glared at Jack.

Jack knew that look. And gulped. "I think I can remember what Jean-Luc said - the quote that is." His fiancée's glare was far more formidable than anything his captain could threaten. He'd rather face an angry Picard over a mad Howard any day or night.

"She strode like a grenadier, was strong and upright like an obelisk, had a beautiful face, a candid brow, pure eyes…" Jean-Luc's voice was stentorian even as he turned redder with every uttered, quoted word.

Walker rather innocently piped up, "That's Conrad, isn't it?"

"Yes," was the captain's curt response. He knew Walker too well. Innocent oberservations had never been Walker's style. Besides, Walker was not exactly the bookish type, so the man must have looked the Joseph Conrad quote up before he'd come to the party. 

"Why, Jean-Luc, you've left out the best part if I remember that quote correctly," Walker innocuously commented.

Judging by the way all three men were looking, standing sheepishly now in front of her, told Beverly that there was something most definitely that had been left off of the quote.

Beverly bestowed upon the men a gracious, saccharinely comprehending look, then went for it. "And the end of the quote is?" When no one spoke up, she quickly added, "I can always look it up."

The gleeful expression on Walker's face spoke volumes as he chose to further Beverly's literary education.

"…And not a thought of her own in her head."

It wasn't often that the friends of the great Jean-Luc Picard could hoist him up by his own petard.

Picard actually genuinely looked at Beverly for the first time that night, his eyes full of remorse. Up until then, he'd done everything that was correct, but he had denied to himself the fact that she was anything more than Jack Crusher's bride-to-be.

And Beverly saw more in his stormy grey to sea green eyes than he knew that he exposed. He was truly mortified by his unwise decision to make a witty comment to his friends, obviously brought about more so by his own guilt over his actions than by anything that Beverly had actually done.

She walked over to the man and flashed him a friendly smile, full of sympathy.

"Thank you, Captain Picard."

She placed her hand on his forearm, even as Walker was disappointed by the lack of the emergence of the already infamous Howard temper. "You're not going to yell at the man? You are always yelling at me when I get out of line! You're always berating somebody over something. I've heard you rant for hours about the Prime Directive versus medical ethics alone. And you're just going to let this insult slide?"

"I do apologize, Doctor," Picard lowly said, with a sense of sincerity that encompassed more than just his verbal gaff.

She leaned close to the captain's ear. For a second he breathed her heady perfume and would have forgotten everything if she had not whispered, "I know, and I accept your apology," she quietly responded. More loudly she announced, "Captain, there is no need for you to apologize about anything. I prefer to think that you only intended to recite the part about my beautiful face and candid brow."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise even as he mentally distanced himself from her.

"I accept that it was the wine that cause the rest of the quote to slip out. Something tells me that you're the type of a man used to reciting quotes in their entirety."

Suddenly, Jean-Luc started to laugh. It was a deep laugh, as the superior officer vanished and the man within emerged, starting to relax in her presence. He sent Beverly an appreciative, understanding look. And then he turned toward Jack, considered his next words, grinned, and then announced, "Jack, I did not misspeak, I think. Only someone without a thought in her head would be foolish enough to attack a Cardassian. And a Nausicaan. At the same time. Both of them had been drinking. Along with their friends. They had a great many friends."

Jack's eyes widened when he learned something that Beverly had neglected to mention. "You really did flip a Nausicaan?"

Beverly reddened. Then she corrected her beloved. "It was a Cardassian. He was trying to buy my services. Rather forcefully. So, I flipped him into the Nausicaan. Accidentally, of course…"

Jean-Luc laughed again. "She did indeed, Jack. Let me tell you about it over dinner. I couldn't believe that anyone, much less such a beautiful woman could be so brave. Or be so completely lacking in universal common sense when it comes to bar room brawls and how not to start them…"

As he spoke, there was a twinkle in his eye as he sent Beverly a teasing look that he reserved only for those that he considered to be close to him.

Jack saw the silent exchange and relaxed. Things were going to work out between Beverly and Jean-Luc.

Beverly understood and silently accepted Jean-Luc's gesture. She knew then, even as she forced herself to develop selective amnesia over what it was like to be held in this man's arms, that all of them were going to become the best of friends…


	8. At Last... My Love Has Come Along...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit naughty, but not too graphic.
> 
> All the usual disclaimers apply.

CHAPTER EIGHT: "At Last…" 

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

IN THE PRESENT…

Beverly was standing in front of her captain's quarters.

Dazed.

Somehow, of her own volition though she couldn't quite remember putting one foot in front of the other to get here, she had walked from her quarters to his, dressed like this. She looked down at her gown. She was wearing her copper silk embroidered caftan which had been a gift from Guinan. It covered her from her slippers to her neck, though it wasn't quite what crew members were used to seeing their CMO wear, when wandering the corridors.

So, here she stood, in front of his door, blindly staring at the letters of Jean-Luc's nameplate. Finally, she looked up and down the corridor to make sure that there were no observers before she gathered up enough courage to press the buzzer.

His door chirruped.

"Come," was his automatic response.

Beverly warily stepped inside of Jean-Luc's suite and then froze as yards and yards of copper silk eddied about her ankles.

She was embarrassed by her actions.

What was she doing here? 

When had she lost her mind?

"Beverly?"

There was a hint of surprise in his voice - along with a silly trace of improbable hope.

He stood, taking a hesitant step towards her.

"Is there something I can do for you, Doctor? Is there a problem?"

He was logical, officious, polite, concerned - in short, the captain. He also couldn't hide the fact that he was puzzled by her appearance, especially considering what had been said after their dinner together.

"Jean-Luc," she sighed. Succumbing. It was a sigh that had been decades in the making for she had been waiting so very long…

"What?"

"Damn you to hell!"

And then the CMO of the Enterprise committed an assault against her superior officer.

She kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him, with a fervor and an intensity that she had not displayed since their impassioned kisses on Sarona VII.

It took a few moments, but then Jean-Luc began to respond. He was not used to his dreams becoming a reality this swiftly. Until he began to wonder if he was having a relapse from his recovery as a Cardassian guest. His startled reaction to her passion was immediate. Yet, he pushed her away, but not too far, just in case this was not a fevered, champagne-induced hallucination or a repetition of his favorite fantasy.

Her arms were clinging to him in need.

"Beverly?" he managed to choke out.

Then he did step back, braking their embrace. He observed her, noting her flushed face and eyes darkened with desire - for him?

"Beverly?" he asked again, one more time, still confused. He was not yet wanting to give voice to all of the questions that should be spoken before he went about the keeping of his lady love in his arms. He had considerable concerns about the altering of their personal relationship.

A few hours ago, he had held no doubts. Now, he wondered if she might not have been the one in the right of it. Should they be afraid?

"Jean-Luc." She sighed his name. It was the woman talking - not the Starfleet officer.

"We should discuss…" For the captain of the starship, these words were hesitant, almost tentatively uttered; unwillingly spoken.

"Why?"

With a feline like grace, she pulled Jean-Luc back into her arms.

"Let us be mad…"

She rubbed herself against his body.

Jean-Luc suddenly recognized that underneath the soft, near-opaque qualities to the silk of Beverly's gown, she was nude.

Aroused.

Available.

Mon Dieu.

His body automatically hardened with this knowledge, matching with a want of its own.

"Beverly…"

Her response was to place soft kisses along his jaw line until she reached his earlobe. She blew her warm breath against his ear.

Picard was many things.

But he was not a fool.

This time, when Jean-Luc pulled Beverly into his embrace, he was kissing Beverly with a pent-up passion that had been decades in the making. He physically silenced all of her questions.

And then he stepped back, partially to regain some sort of self-control. And to give Beverly yet one more chance to reconsider matters before he locked his door and they went past the point of no return.

"I've opened up a bottle of champagne," he stated, his calm façade returning, revealing none of his astonishment or turmoil at her unexpected presence in his quarters. "Would you care for a glass?"

"Later…"

Beverly took a step toward him. He stepped back. She was slightly annoyed that he could think of serving wine at a time like this.

"It's too good a wine to permit it to go flat." His nervous smile was meant to charm, but it revealed his uneasiness far more than he knew."

"Château Picard?"

"Mais oui."

He casually picked up the second glass that he had meant for Beverly to use after dinner, and poured the remainder of the bottle into it.

"You're late," he too-idly commented, as he handed Beverly her flute.

"For what?" She was confused by these shifts to his attitude.

"We should have been drinking this champagne hours ago."

His words surprised her. Especially since they seemed to reveal that he had truly been intending to seduce her earlier this evening.

He looked down at her slender fingers and noticed that she had paid little attention to her champagne. He removed the flute from her hands, drained it and put the crystal out of harm's way.

"This is the stage we should be at," he explained. And then he demonstrated.

He swayed against her, their thighs brushing; the volatility of their situation was coming to the forefront. Cupping her chin with one hand, his fingers curving into the pulse point on her throat; with the other hand he caressed her face, lightly stroking these fingers against the angular planes of her high cheekbones.

A sudden lifting of his spirits made him feel like celebrating. Beverly was coming willingly into his arms…

Gentle fingers trailed down the side of her throat until they reached the neck of her caftan, carefully setting aside the cloth to uncover rose tinted mounds.

Her body turned into liquid heat beneath his explorer's boldness. She rallied her thoughts as she remembered the last time she had felt like this, oh so long ago. "Jean-Luc," she breathed, as she tried to maintain her focus before succumbing to the sensations of his caress.

"Yes, mon coeur?" he murmured, between placing soft kisses ever so carefully along the smooth curve of her bosom.

"The bedroom?" she suggested, as her knees liquefied. She reached for the support of his shoulders.

"Later," he managed to reply, as he trembled beneath the weight of the passions that they were creating. "We've much to do here before we retire there."

Trying to absorb the meaning of his words as his hands worked their magic, gliding away the offending silk from her body was a most formidable task.

When she stood nude at last, in a puddle of copper fire, he released her and stepped back again, just simply to gaze upon her.

For a moment, she was stunned by the intense expression on his face.

Beverly blushed. It had been a long time since she had stood naked before any man as a lover.

"Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite," was his single observation.

She wondered at these words, appreciative of them. But then her practical nature asserted itself, even at times like this.

"Would that I could say the same about you." Her tart comment was pointedly aimed at his lack of nudity.

He chuckled. "True."

Now was the time to cross the Rubicon. And so he did, stripping away his clothing, delighting in the fact that her mere gaze could elicit physical responses from his flesh. And then he remembered the door. "Privacy lock," he ordered, before he dropped his last item of clothing. He stood still for a moment, granting her what she had just given him.

"Exquisite," she echoed, slightly mocking him, yet meaning the compliment, too.

Jean-Luc took refuge in humor at Beverly's wide-eyed perusal.

"Your orders, Doctor?"

Beverly nodded toward the bedroom, then spoke with deliberate seductiveness. "I've always wondered if some of the myths about Frenchmen are greatly exaggerated."

"You had only but to ask, mon coeur." His smile held a hint of amusement, as he chose to confirm rather than discuss her words. "I do believe I should demonstrate. As for the certain matters we have to discuss…"

"Tomorrow?"

"For the latter, an acceptable answer." He was somewhat relieved that she didn't want to thrash out their situation at this very instant. His body was not in the mood for cerebral discourse at the moment.

She twined her arms about his shoulders, tracing gentle patterns with her fingers against his head, exploring his nape.

Taking this as a sign of acceptance, he pulled her into one hell of a fiery kiss, thoroughly relishing the feel of her skin pressed hard against his flesh.

She fit.

They fit.

Their physical response was instantaneous.

Overwhelming.

Overpowering.

"Damn you, Beverly…" was his curse as he lowered her down onto his well-padded captain's quarters carpet.

"What?" She was puzzled by his words for they were belied by his actions. He was stroking her with abandon. He was losing control.

"I've never made love on my cabin floor before," he explained, looming over her, about to finally claim her.

For the briefest of moments, she felt his hard body poised above hers, as if it were the gateway to an unknown world. And then she drew him down.

Hunger.

Hers and his.

Rational thoughts vanished.

Starfleet regulation carpeting became as comfortable as Briglodian feather comforters.

Her demands were utterly female, a timeless request that only he could fulfill.

Their position was basic, but satiating.

And when this brief loving was concluded, neither one was finished. They had hungered for far too many a year to be satisfied now.

With the glorious realization that this encounter would only be the beginning, when he could get around to summoning such rational thoughts, Jean-Luc Picard started to consider all of the possibilities.

He moved off of her, automatically handing her the silk caftan.

"Jean-Luc?"

Her voice was composed now. Contained. Gentle. Tinged with amusement. Not like the unrestrained cries she'd uttered only moments earlier.

He found his short, grey robe and donned it. Then he turned to study her, now sitting cross-legged on the floor. She had not bothered to put on the caftan. His look was heated as he gazed down upon her, recalling words recently said. And words almost said so long ago.

"If you be hell, Madam, then may I be damned forever in your arms."

She relaxed, not even realizing how tense she'd become. "Likewise," Beverly countered. Her smile was too-knowing, as she raised her hand up to clasp his.

Picard considered the gesture. "More, mon coeur? Are you sure this is wise?"

Her smile was more elusive than an angel's.

He bent over her.

"You keep asking me that. I doubt it. Does wisdom really matter at this moment?"

"Merde."

He glanced down at his carpeting.

"Next time around, this captain will choose Eodian silk rugs for his quarters," he announced as he suspected the marks on his knees would have corresponding injuries on her body. He decided that he'd had enough of carpet burns for this evening. He scooped Beverly up off the floor and carried her into his bedroom.

"Put me down!" his medical professional ordered. "Who do you think you are? Worf? Data? I am far too heavy for you to carry!"

"No, you are not. Not then. Not now. Beverly, you will cease underestimating me. Starting now." And before he did put her down, he kissed her rather thoroughly, with deliberate intent to dominate.

She surrendered, not relinquishing his embrace even when she found herself placed on his pewter silk coverlet. She instinctively struck a pose of seduction.

That should have surprised him. But part of his psyche was beginning to accept this uninhibited side to Beverly's nature. And his heart was singing with the joy of it.

"Beverly," he cautioned as he moved against her sumptuous soft skin.

"What is it, Jean-Luc?" She purred beneath his touch. There was no other word to describe the sound that she made. And then she touched him, untying his robe.

Merde.

A suggestive smile crossed over his face as he finally got around to answering her question. "You're going to get much more than you expected."

Beverly sighed in victory. She was not yet willing to tell Jean-Luc all of her thoughts. If she couldn't run her fingers through the hair on his head, at least there were other places on his body where she could do so, with very pleasurable results.

She suddenly stopped, remembering what it had been like to run her fingers through Jack's wavy curls. And then, quite deliberately, she reached up and pulled him lower, so that she could kiss the top of his head.

"Jean-Luc?" Her manner indicated that she was open to all sort of suggestions, preferably sinful ones. She pulled him even more tightly against her rising body.

"Yes, Beverly?"

He was trying to match her mood. He lifted himself up above her, studying her features for a clue.

"Shall I turn up the lighting, Doctor?"

"Only if you want to count all of the wrinkles on a couple of middle-aged bodies, Captain."

"Speak for yourself, mon coeur." He punctuated the remark by nipping a few of the afore-mentioned alleged wrinkles.

"You don't consider yourself middle-aged?" Beverly nipped back too.

"Beverly, when I lived on Ressika, I experienced a true old age. Believe me, I prefer being able to claim being middle-aged again. I promise you, that I'll not repeat my former mistakes."

Beverly caught something in the tone of his voice.

"What mistakes?"

Picard ruefully smiled. "Not to love my wi…" he paused, amending his instinctive words. "… Not to tell the woman I love of my feelings at least once every day."

She considered him, wondering about all that he had left unsaid.

"Trust me, Beverly."

"I always have." She pressed her lips against his. "And I always will."

Suddenly there was a look in his eye, full of devilish intentions. Fascinated by the shifts in his mood, she watched him. She was discovering aspects of his personality that were delightfully unexpected.

He tapped the comm badge resting on his nightstand. "Picard to Data."

"Yes, Captain," was the instantaneous response.

"Will you take my duty shift, tomorrow? And for the next few days? I will be taking a few days of personal leave. I will inform you of my return." He offered no further explanation.

Data needed none. "Of course, Captain."

Picard added, "And I don't wish to be disturbed by anyone unless it is a red alert or an urgent message from only the fleet admiral."

'Yes, Sir," was Data's prompt response, nodding to Mr. Worf who had been monitoring this conversation. Data returned to his station, calculating the odds of his captain taking time off in order to be Dixon Hill on a holodeck. For once, Data would be completely incorrect in his conjecture.

Picard rolled over next to his beloved, and looked very much like a little boy still plotting something.

Beverly wasn't quite used to seeing Jean-Luc Picard grin like this. She had not thought that such a mischievous gesture was in his experience. But she oh so liked the way he was looking at her.

"Well, Beverly. Your turn?"

She knew what he dared. During her service on board the Enterprise, she'd rarely taken a fully personal day, not that she didn't have months of leave accrued in her personnel records. She'd always been just too busy being a doctor to ever take any real time off.

She reached over and picked up his comm badge. She chuckled as she explained, "I left my comm badge in my quarters." She tapped it. "Crusher to Dr. Selar."

"Yes, Doctor?" was the immediate response. Selar's voice was neutral, unruffled, reassuring - as always.

"I am taking some time off. Will you arrange for cover of my duty shifts until further notice?"

If Selar was surprised by this extraordinary request, she gave no indication of it as she replied, "Yes. I will personally do so. Are you in need of any assistance, Doctor Crusher?"

Picard silently dared her to say yes.

She muffled her next giggle. "No, thank you, Dr. Selar."

"Then enjoy your leave, Dr. Crusher. I would be honored to cover as many shifts as you need."

She tossed the comm badge somewhere onto the floor.

Beverly innocently studied Jean-Luc before she engulfed his body into hers. She wiggled. He moaned.

"So, tell me, my captain, what do you like to do when you play hooky?"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Only the tactical officer on duty duly noticed the comm badge exchanges, and their singular location. He thought nothing of it until sickbay informed him that Dr. Crusher was taking leave. Not that he was a gossipmonger, but Worf leapt to a conclusion. He permitted himself a tiny smile. Tonight was a Klingon warrior's kind of night…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly issued her challenge, rolling about the bed, reveling in the seductive possibilities for the next few days.

"Well, Jean-Luc, you've got me. What do you suggest we do with this time?" The fact that a sheet was barely covering her sweat-glistened body had nothing to do with her query.

"Chess?" he proposed.

"Strip chess?" she suggested. "Oh, wait. We've already done that." She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.

He caught it.

"Don't you find intellectual endeavors stimulating, mon coeur?"

He threw the pillow back. He was a better shot for it bounced off of her shoulder and joined some pillows on the floor.

Her riposte was to place another pillow under her hips. Then, she wiggled. Smiled. And needed to say nothing more.

"Mon Dieu."

There were certain invitations no gentleman should ever refuse. And this was one of them.

"What do I say to you?"

He spoke the words, almost as if he were unsure of himself. The captain of the Enterprise was not used to speaking aloud words of love to his CMO.

Beverly raised herself up on one elbow, understanding the reasons behind his hesitation.

"When we were attached, we knew some of each other's thoughts. In a way, I wish that we still were attached," Picard admitted. "Then I would know what to do with you."

She smiled, a wicked little smile - the kind of smile that had bedeviled men for a millennium. She whispered, "I was quite disappointed, you know. You really should have ripped off my clothes at that campfire, Jean-Luc."

He froze. "My dreams?"

"Your conscious thoughts," she dreamily responded. "And I am going to hold you to them. You owe me."

He bent down, their lips nearly brushing. "Beverly…"

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"I always repay my debts."

"Promises, promises."

She nestled into him.

"Patience, Beverly. We have hours." He rolled onto his side.

She tried to nip his knowing fingers before replying, "You may. I don't think that I can wait that long."

Swiftly he moved, trapping her wandering hand from its lower descent.

"No, mon coeur. Later on, you may caress me in any manner that you wish. In fact, I do so insist." He brought her fingertips to his lips and licked each one. "But, right now, I'm the only one doing the exploring. Captain's orders."

Her smile was beautiful. She was beautiful. Her heart was beautiful. And it was a moment that he would forever remember.

"CMO's orders, Captain. I need you - now."

He mused, "True, concerning the medical needs of my body, you do outrank me… can order me…" He moved closer to her. "And as CMO, you can even override me." He pulled Beverly on top of him. "So ordered."

"Aye, Captain.

Later, when they both no longer moved as one, when their muscles complained over the slightest attempts at any movement, Jean-Luc found the energy to stroke her tangled, red hair, spreading it about his chest for Beverly was using him as her pillow.

"Beverly…" he murmured.

She lifted her head up, rather weakly.

"What?"

"Forgive me."

She paused, considered matters, then carefully inquired, "For what?"

"For not recognizing what a lusty wench you were, years ago."

"Oh, you always knew. You just never did anything about it. But back then. You couldn't."

"We will make up for lost time," he promised.

After they made a dent into what they owed lost time, Picard suggested, "A bath, and a change of sheets, I think. Then supper."

She considered his suggestion. "No."

"Beverly?"

"I won't settle for anything less than a bubble bath."

The thought of Beverly's body peek-a-booing through bubbles held a certain appeal to Jean-Luc. "I suppose a bubble bath can be arranged."

She rose off of him and sauntered over to the replicator. "Crusher Bubble Bath Program Salts, Number Three."

After watching the sway of Beverly's bottom as she walked away from him, he then went over to the replicator and sniffed the bath salts.

"Lavender. And my special herb mix," she called back over her shoulder as she was replicating to unbreakable crystal champagne flutes.

These salts, he would permit. He noticed the dangling flutes from her fingers, so he went to his wine safe and pulled out two bottles of wine. They went into the bathroom together after he opened up one bottle of champagne.

She sat on the edge of the tub and added her recipe to the swirling warm waters as they began to rise. She glanced about, noting the wide grey striated marble tub and wall splash. She was always amused by the unexpected magnificence of her captain's bathroom. It was an indulgence so unlike her ascetic Jean-Luc to have.

"You are smiling. Why?" he asked, even as he poured some champagne into crystal flutes. He didn't mean to sound suspicious, but there was a certain look about her that he'd long associated with mischief making on her part.

"I've always wondered about this tub."

"Oh."

He sounded anxious. She knew then that she had hit a nerve. With great innocence, not to mention a flirtatious glance or two, she casually mentioned, "This tub wasn't here in your quarters the first year I was on board the Enterprise. In fact, I don't remember seeing it until the dinner that I had with your duplicate." Her gaze was wide-eyed as she noticed how still he'd become. "You remember, don't you? The time that those aliens kidnapped you and their double invited me into your quarters for such an intimate, gourmet dinner."

He cleared his throat.

Beverly continued. "We had wine. And music. We even danced a slow dance…"

"This is the first time that you've ever mentioned those details to me. They weren't in your report of the incident."

Her smile was naughty. "Why, Jean-Luc. I'm surprised that you remember such minor details from reports." The bubbles were rising in the tub. Beverly batted a few in his direction. "Anyway, you - that is your evil twin - had such savoir-faire…"

"Beverly…"

She paid no attention. "Afterwards, I thought that he was the one who had ordered the tub to be installed. Did he?"

"Beverly…"

He could tell by the look on her face that she was not going to budge. He would have to confess all. So he handed her a flute of champagne, put his glass down on the ledge, stepped inside the burbling waters, and then extended his hand to help Beverly into the tub.

She ignored his stalling attempts even as she rested against the back of the tub. "Afterwards, I thought that your evil twin was the one who had ordered this tub installed. Am I correct?"

Sighing, he sank down in the tub, facing his beloved. The pulsating water jets were immediately appreciated ed as they focused on his aching muscles. Then he gave her the explanation she was demanding.

"Chief Argyle once heard my off-the-cuff comment about the somewhat Spartan nature of the sonic shower in the captain's quarters. I then went to a conference after you left for Starfleet Medical. And when I returned," he gestured about, "this was in place. Argyle actually tore down a wall and reconfigured the next door storage unit in order to build this spa for me."

Beverly inspected the details of the almost Romanesque style room. In tones of grey, black slate and white, it was impressive. Luxurious. And functional. It suited Jean-Luc.

"This is better than the gym whirlpool."

"I know. That's why I never reprimanded the man for such a use of ship's resources. Considering my many injuries over the years, I have put this tub to good use." He slid a little lower, letting the massaging sprays attack his neck muscles. "It is about the only thing that Argyle ever did of which I approved.

He noticed that she was sort of fiddling with the angles of the pulsating jet sprays. "Let me. Computer, extend the Picard relaxation program number 2 for both occupants of the tub." He caught her unspoken question. "You are the first person who's ever shared his tub with me, mon coeur."

A long time later, she was nestled against his chest as they both shared the last glass of champagne from the first bottle,

"Computer, maintain the tub's temperature."

There weren't that many bubbles left. Beverly could clearly see the way they were intertwined, now in a casual manner. Desire would soon rise again, but now, the feeling was just one of mutuality. Companionship. Confession.

Jean-Luc moved a little and removed the second bottle of champagne, the '45', from a silver wine stand. He opened this bottle and refilled the flutes.

Beverly accepted her new flute. "I hadn't realized that the captain of the Enterprise indulged in real alcohol," Beverly idly commented.

"Beverly, I can count on one hand the number of times I have opened up a bottle of real champagne on board this ship. That number is four. The occasion of your partaking of my bath is the fourth time."

"I'm honored." She clinked her flute against his. "To us," she boldly proclaimed.

"Forever," he whispered back.

For a moment they gazed into each other's eyes, and then she nodded and took her first sip. It was delicious. "We will do this again," she observed.

"Yes." And then his mood changed.

She sensed it immediately, and knew that now was the time. She plunged forward. "I suppose that I should feel guilty about loving you, Jean-Luc."

"Because you feel as if you're betraying Jack?" He tried to anticipate her argument.

"No. I don't feel guilty at all, about Jack. I am not betraying him. We even talked about you once. And he approved of my having a relationship with you, if the situation warranted it." On his surprised expression, she explained, "And that is precisely my problem." She glanced away from him, troubled and disconcerted by what she was about to reveal. "I knew that you weren't the marrying kind when we first met. Jack was."

"I suspect that Jack informed you of that fact. We'd had many a discussion over marriage and command constraints over the years."

"No, Jean-Luc. I knew from the first moment when we met. I wasn't surprised at all when I heard Vigo call you Captain. I knew that all of your energies were permanently focused on your ship."

"You make me sound selfish."

"Dedicated, actually." She moved around a bit, displacing a knobby knee from her backside. "I loved Jack. And I have never regretted it."

"I know."

She sighed, feeling somewhat melancholy yet determined, over her thoughts. "But enough about Jack."

"You wish to discuss Jack at another time?"

"Yes, someday soon." She took a deep sip of her wine, then placed it down on the ledge with a slight clink.

"I have always wanted you, Jean-Luc."

"Merci." He too, took a quick sip of his wine then placed the flute on a ledge. "The sentiment is mutual. I take it that you wish to make a point?"

Her gaze was sober. "What is this, Jean-Luc?" She moved aside a few of the remaining bubbles to caress his chest. "What are we doing right now? What is this to you?"

Jean-Luc knew potentially dangerous questions when he heard them.

"Everything," was his simple response.

She pressed onward. "Are we only on shore leave together?"

"My heart is involved, Beverly. Us - it has never been just a casual interlude to me."

"I'm caught up with us, too."

"In what manner? Are we about to embark on a series of encounters during extended shore leaves, or are you willing to make a commitment, Beverly?" He sensed her tensing. "I'm too old to settle for a mere casual affair with you, regardless of how sensational it may be."

"Of course I want a commitment, Jean-Luc. But I don't want us to rush into anything. You've had time to think about our arrangements. I have not. Not even with Jack did I race headlong into anything."

"You've speculated about us. You just don't wish to tell me what those thoughts were."

"I never thought that we really had a future together, Jean-Luc. I've always known that your ship comes first - in your life and in your heart."

"Beverly, we have a future together, if you wish it."

"Jean-Luc…" Her voice trailed off as he pressed a slight kiss against his cheek.

"That future - it may not include the Enterprise," he warned.

She was shocked into silence.

He understood her reaction. "I never told you everything about the time when I lived on Ressika. About my wife, Eline. My understanding of this world changed after that. I should have told you the whole story a long time ago…"

"I learned a few details from your thoughts, you know." She didn't add how she'd sensed his almost worshipful remembrance of his wife. On KesPrytt, she had not comprehended how he could have felt such a great love for such a phantom.

His voice broke as he explained, "I had a daughter, Meribor. A son, Batai. And a…" Bittersweet memories rushed over him. "Kammie - that is Kamen - my grandson."

She mutely nodded, stunned, confused by his confession. These people - Jean-Luc spoke as if they had been real, live beings to him - as if he had actually known them.

"Tell me, Jean-Luc. Tell me."

"When I lived on Ressika…"

Afterwards, she could only embrace him. And pray that one day he would love her as much as he had once loved Eline. Words were not enough, now. She showed him how much she loved him, spiraling into a star dance of true desire.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Mr. Worf, where is the Captain?"

Riker tried not to sound annoyed, but when Picard had not met his duty shift, and no explanation other than the captain being on leave was given, Riker became irritated. The captain had not mentioned taking a shore leave to his Exec. And Riker prided himself on knowing everything about his captain and the man's whereabouts.

"The captain does not wish to be disturbed," Worf formally pronounced.

Riker rikled.

"Worf!" he barked. "Explain!"

Stiffly, Worf spoke. "The captain was specific, Sir. About contact. He does not wish to be disturbed."

"Over ride," Riker ordered. He tapped his comm badge. "Computer, locate the Captain."

"Captain Picard is in his quarters," replied the emotionless computer voice that sounded remarkably like Lwaxana Troi.

Riker against reached for his badge. The crushing grasp of a duty-bound Klingon stilled his hand's movements.

"A moment of your time, Sir?" Worf respectfully asked, even as he detained his superior officer's wrist, still capable of compressing the bones in Will's wrist into a fine powder.

"The ready room?" Riker suggested, with an aplomb he was far from feeling.

Had Worf snapped?

Worf released his wrist.

Did Worf know something that the First Officer should know?

Rubbing his wrist with vigor, Riker led the way into the ready room.

The door swished close.

"You obviously wanted to make a point. What is it, Worf?" He didn't add anything about assaulting a fellow officer. Worf was clearly doing his duty by Klingon standards.

Worf grunted, displaying nervousness, which Riker knew to be unusual behavior for the man.

"Sir, you are my superior officer, but Captain Picard is the captain."

"Meaning, Mr. Worf?"

"When Captain Picard tells me that he does not wish to be disturbed, I am honor-bound not to do so, unless it is a red alert."

Riker pulled himself up to the weight of his rank and ordered, "Explain, Mr. Worf. What does this have to do with my delivering a report to the captain?'

Worf almost looked as if he were blushing - for a Klingon. "The Captain is not alone." Klingons did not hide their sexual prowess. Neither should his cha'Dich.

Riker however, barely hid his astonishment at this pronouncement.

"Are you telling me that the captain of this ship has female companionship?"

"Affirmative, Commander." Worf hesitated, then continued his explanation. "Unlike his last mistress, this lady is different. There could be complications." Worf knew that he'd gotten Riker's goat with this bit of information.

"The captain's affairs are his own, Worf," Riker righteously pronounced. Then the import of Worf's words sank in. "Wait a second - last mistress? More than one? Who?"

"I know," Worf admitted, not quite disguising his sense of one-upmanship over Riker. "But it is not my place to tell, Sir."

"Worf!"

"Captain Picard is discreet. He's very good at it, Commander." Worf's smile was pure Klingon. "He could teach me a course in subterfuge."

Riker knew he'd said too much. He regrouped his thoughts. "Very well, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

Worf left.

If Worf could figure out who was sleeping in the captain's bed, surely he could play detective, too?

The First Officer considered the possibilities. He automatically eliminated all of the Starfleet officers and crewmen. He knew Picard well enough that the man would never again get involved with someone under his command - someone he could order into danger. The only ones left were the civilians. About half of whom were female. All four hundred or so of them. He groaned at the likeliness of finding the right one quickly.

Maybe he should go visit Deanna and learn what she'd sensed…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc was oblivious to the running of his ship, though his mental, internal meter registered every throb of the engine as if it were the captain's heartbeat. This was part of the hazards of being a captain. And he'd accepted it long ago.

Right now, though, his concentration centered on the magnificent woman sleeping in his bed. He had thought that he had known her. He had been wrong.

Indulgent, gentle, playful, red-blooded, captivating, enchanting, aggravating, honest, demanding… he ran out of words to continue mentally describing her. For a change, words failed him.

He knew that he had been given a second chance to prove himself.

He glanced over at the passing stars. He'd always served their fire. And now, he recognized some of that same fire in Beverly's gaze.

It was time for a change.

Disoriented, sleepy, and naked, the red head opened her eyes and looked about for her lover.

"Jean-Luc?"

He walked over to the bed's edge and draped over her an azure silk bathrobe that he'd just replicated for her. Oddly enough, it was the exact same color as her eyes.

He drew his dull grey robe tighter about his body. "Breakfast, Beverly? Your captain is rather hungry at the moment. He's hoping that you are, too."

If he hadn't known better, he would've thought that she was blushing as she pulled on her robe. She swung her feet over the side of the bed.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, Beverly?"

She reached up and placed her hands on his.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For trusting in us enough to be persistent. Thank you for being fearless when I was not.

"You came to me, mon coeur."

"True. But you were the one doing the tempting. You were the one trying to challenge our impasse. You'd never done that before. You found the courage to demand something more…"

"Than a barren, emotionless life as just friends?" He sat down next to her on the bed, and kissed her cheek. "I saw what was happening to me and I was not sure that I should do anything to change it. I tried with Nella. Even though I loved her, it was a 'safe' sort of love."

"You didn't have years of emotional ties with her as you did with me. Still, many of the reasons as to why your relationship with Nella did not work applies to our situation. You are still my commanding officer."

"Yes, Beverly. I realize that. But, you are different. And our circumstances have changed."

"How so?"

"What I learned about you on KesPrytt."

She shook her head. "I learned more about you too, Jean-Luc. You know, you can order me into danger. I can also contract and die of some unknown plague. I can even die of old age in our bed - or in a shuttlecraft accident."

The stunned look on Jean-Luc's face surprised Beverly.

"Surely you must have known that I knew about Grace…"

He abruptly stood and turned away from her. "It was so long ago when I was an ensign. Grace..." He said her name softly, remembering all that she had once meant to him. "We'd been together for not quite a year. Then I was sent away on a diplomatic mission. I sent her a sub-space message, asking her to marry me. But she'd died in a shuttle accident on Vulcan. I never received a reply…" He turned to face Beverly. "I had sent her to Vulcan, mistakenly believing that she would be safer there than with me. I made a mistake. She would have lived if she'd gone with me."

"No one can control the future, Jean-Luc."

"Maybe Q," Jean-Luc darkly added. "How did you know? My loving Grace was before I met Jack. I never told him."

"But you still think about her."

Enlightenment dawned. "KesPrytt. Someday, I may actually be forced to thank the Prytt for what they did to us.'

"Jean-Luc, we discovered a lot about each other, there. Sort of like a puzzle. We now know different pieces, but we need each other in order to be complete."

"Is that what we are doing, Beverly? Learning how to make each other whole?"

"I don't know if that will ever happen, or if it is really even something to be desired. But I do believe that it is something worth trying to achieve." She laughed, lovingly cupping his cheek with her palm. "When all is said and done, I would like us to be dear friends who also love each other. In a way, that is what I think loving really means - being with someone with whom you can be comfortable, in both love and friendship."

"Whatever happens between us, Beverly, I do not wish to lose our friendship. It has been my lifeline."

"Neither do I, Jean-Luc." She yawned, blushed, stood and stretched. "You said something about breakfast, I believe?" She walked over to the replicator. "Fraise gelee…" she ordered.

Now he knew why she had been blushing, even as he groaned at the thought of what Beverly was about to do to him with the brandied strawberry jam. Their KesPrytt adventure had revealed more about some of his specific, erotic fantasies, than he would have preferred.

"Insatiable…" was one of his last, rational thoughts.

Twenty-four hours later, he requested breakfast minus the jam.

He was in red and black.

She was wearing her blue med coat.

Over coffee and croissants, Beverly chatted on about Lt. Powell and Nurse Ogawa. She discussed how many babies were currently in the nursery. She talked about her series of upcoming lectures for the children's career day. She wondered if she should change the wall colors in the recovery rooms.

And all Jean-Luc Picard could do was murmur his agreement with her words, and inwardly smile. He leaned over and clasped her hand.

"I'm nervous, too."

This shut her up. "About what?"

"What's beyond those doors. We must trust in each other, Beverly. In our judgment. We will learn to cope with what's out there."

"What will the crew say?"

"Hopefully, the kind ones will wish us well, Beverly. The rest will gossip like they always do." He understood her sudden, surprised expression. "I know what occurs on my ship even if I do not actively participate in it. I am the captain. There is always gossip. And I will know."

"How?"

"Well, if I told you that, then how would I learn anything at all about you?"

"So these unnamed sources will have already told the crew about us?"

"Probably not. Right now, the only one who really knows about us should be Lt. Worf. Data might suspect something, but he hasn't had enough clues to solve the puzzle, yet." Letting his nerves get the better of him, he stood and started pacing. "In the past, whenever I've been involved with someone, I have always felt that discretion was the preferred path. But, with you, it is different. It is not so simple a decision." He turned and walked over to her, lightly touching her face. "If you wish to keep our relationship private, then I will comply. But, quite frankly, I would prefer otherwise."

She swallowed, biting nervously down on her lower lip. "Why?"

He felt self-conscious as he admitted, "What I feel for you, I do not wish to hide. I do not think that I am that good of an actor."

She was shaken by his words. And then she considered them and concentrated on something that he had let slip. "You've had other lovers on board this ship?"

Picard smiled, amused that she could display a bit of jealousy. "I care not to discuss Nella or Vash."

"I didn't ask you to do that, Jean-Luc."

He leaned down and captured her hands, bringing them up to his lips.

"They are the past."

"They had better be," she warned.

He heard her words but refrained from remarking about them. "As for any of my other indiscretions, since you never knew of them, well, that proves how discreet I can really be."

"Jean-Luc," she objected, "I really don't care about your past…" She snatched a breath. "Our future, on the other hand…"

"I cannot promise that I will never have to leave, Beverly. But I will do everything in my power to avoid it."

"Promise me that you won't die before me, Jean-Luc."

Hearing these words, it was as if something snapped shut within him; as though he had said too much, revealed too much and had promised to much to her. He let her hands drop.

"Later. I will see you at the staff meeting, Doctor."


	9. DANCE WITH ME...

CHAPTER NINE: Dance with me…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"My report, Captain," Riker finished saying, handing his padd to his commander.

He surreptitiously studied his commanding officer. There was definitely something different about his captain this morning. Jean-Luc seemed more relaxed than usual. Again, Riker ponderred the lady's identity. Whoever she was, she must be one helluva woman. Riker kept his grin to himself. There were certain lines he dared not cross with Jean-Luc.

Will vowed to keep his ear to the grapevine over the next few days. Surely, someone would ferret out something. Not that he was a gossipmonger. But the well-being of his captain was paramount to him. And this included guarding the captain's personal life, although Riker knew he had to proceed very cautiously. The last thing Riker wanted was for Picard to think that he was foolish enough to be nosing about the captain's private affairs. Again.

"Any other matter to be brought to my attention?" Picard asked of his senior line staff, knowing that his agenda had been covered.

The response was negative.

Picard then swiveled in his chair and stared questioningly at Riker.

Riker didn't flinch. Though he wondered what it was that he had done to get Jean-Luc glaring at him.

I understand that you're performing a set tonight in Ten-Forward, Commander."

"Yes, sir." Riker was surprised by this question. To his knowledge, Captain Picard had never expressed interest in one of his musical performances before. "Mr. Data is joining us as a singer."

"I can emulate the singing styles of 5,387 jazz singers, sir," Data informed his captain.

"Do you know of Tony Bennett?"

"Accessing. Yes, captain. I am familiar with this performer."

"Consider singing under his influence, and I will attend."

Riker hid his astonishment. "I didn't know that you were interested in jazz, sir."

"I was not aware that you needed to know every detail about my personal preferences, Number One."

Jean-Luc glanced at the reflections of his senior staff in the meeting room's windows. He could tell that Mr. LaForge and Beverly were having a hard time stifling their grins over his treatment of his XO.

"Dismissed."

He caught Beverly's eye. She correctly understood his unspoken request and stayed. After everyone else had cleared out, he approached her, extending his hand.

She took it.

"Will you come with me to the concert, mon coeur?"

She tried to disguise her discomfort at the idea of becoming such a public spectacle. For she had guarded her privacy almost as much as Jean-Luc had protected his own.

"Yes, I do know what I am asking, Beverly."

He leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek, then ordered, "Computer, privacy lock."

This was the one thing that Jean-Luc could have done that was absolutely guaranteed to make Beverly even more nervous. For his KesPrytt dreams had revealed certain fantasies concerning the multiple reflective nature of this room's windows and conference table top. And how he'd envisioned ravishing her there with great finesse. And with her enthusiastic cooperation.

"Wh…what?" she stuttered. This scenario was also too close to one of her personal fantasies as well.

He stepped away from her and sat in his traditional chair, pivoting to face her.

"By the time Guinan seats us, the news will be all over the ship," Picard chuckled. "By the time the first set is finished, Winston Holt Wiley will know."

"Are you sure that you want to do this, Jean-Luc? It is a significant step."

"By the time I sweep the Dancing Doctor onto her feet, Wesley will probably be the recipient of many sub-space messages." He seemed a bit amused by his notions.

"Oh, lord, you know that nickname too?"

"Jack told me, years ago. Once I learned of it, I actually found it intimidating. I can remember treading on your toes at diplomatic functions. I felt like such an ass."

"And are you willing to be an ass tonight?"

He knew by the tone of her voice that dancing would be her price for her joining him in Ten-Forward.

"Not only will I be an ass, I am willing to feel an…" He stood and leaned over, lightly brushing his lips against her, rubbing his palm across her derriere. "We'll dine afterwards?"

It was not a question that needed an answer.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Riker decided to try a different tactic. The band was setting up and testing the sound equipment. So when Mr. Data entered Ten-Forward, Riker pulled the android aside.

"Mr. Data, may I talk with you a moment?"

'Of course, Commander."

Riker led Data to an empty section of the lounge, away from the musicians.

"I need to ask you a question about Captain Picard's leave."

"Yes, Commander? You should know that Lt. Worf did warn me that you would try to interrogate me about Captain Picard's lovers."

Silently, Will vowed to get even with Mr. Worf some day in the future - the very near future. "Data! How can you think such a thing... Wait a second. Did you say - Lovers?"

"Yes, I have been keeping track of all of the captain's ladies just in case the captain might one day need my assistance with one of them."

"I don't understand, Mr. Data."

"Two of them are still on board the Enterprise. Contrary to what most of your English literature indicates, these two ladies are great friends.

Mr. Riker silently mouthed the phrase two of them are still on board…

Mr. Data interrupted the commander's musings. "Commander, I am being summoned for a sound check. If you have any more questions, I will try not to answer them after the session."

It took the First Officer a second to comprehend everything that Mr. Data had just said.

And then it was his turn for a sound check.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

At 1850 hours he rang her doorbell.

Casually dressed in a genetian blue silk shirt and matching rough-woven slacks, he entered Beverly's quarters and immediately felt under-dressed when he beheld the vision before him.

Her flame red dress had a handkerchief hem fluttering about her ankles. The bodice was modest. The back was not. Her long red hair flowed about her shoulders. Her hair color should have clashed with the vibrant dress color. Instead, it all became a glorious, tantalizing confliction.

The fire in his mutable hazel eyes told her all that she needed to know about the way that she looked. "Perhaps we shouldn't go out?" Mischievous promises lurked in her smile.

"Tempt me now and you will pay the price later. And a high toll it will be."

"You keep making me these promises, Jean-Luc."

Her smile was purely sensual. She came up to him, looked down at him since she was wearing very high ruby sequined heels one more time, and then kissed him with a determined passion. When she decided that she had persuaded him to change his mind about going to Ten-Forward, she broke away from their kiss.

She wiped her lipstick off of his lips. And his pate.

"Come along, Jean-Luc. Let's go shock Will speechless."

They walked down the corridors quietly conversing. As if everything were its normal status quo between them.

The crew members that passed them noted nothing odd except, perhaps, for the fact that the captain was dressed in civilian clothing tonight. This was a rare sight, rarely observed outside of the fencing courts or the holodecks.

The couple approached the Ten-Forward corridor.

Jean-Luc knew that Beverly was nervous. "It's all right, beloved."

"I don't want it to be all right, Jean-Luc," she answered. Then she stopped walking. "What did you say?"

"Everything will be all right?" he suggested.

She grabbed his arm, ignoring the interested gazes of the people entering into the lounge.

"No! You said beloved," she whispered.

"And you are." His voice was soft, resolute.

And she knew then, that he truly meant it. His prior words of love had not been said just because of the heat of the moment.

Her answering smile was beatific as she refused the offer of his arm. "Let us proceed as we mean to go," she announced to her lover.

Truly wondering what she meant, Picard stood there waiting for her to make the next move.

She extended her hand toward his.

He understood.

He accepted.

He clasped her hand. Formally. Playfully. With fingers stroking fingers as they intertwined.

Supported by the warmth and strength of his touch, she guided him between the sliding wood doors of the lounge, tugging him just a little bit to pull him across the threshold.

In Ten-Forward, no one moved. All talking ceased. Riker was just about to start the first set, a tribute to a legend named 'Hoagie', when he became aware of the sudden stillness sweeping across Ten-Forward. He looked up. And briefly thought that he was hallucinating.

The captain and the doctor had entered together, holding hands.

No one moved or said anything until Guinan approached the couple.

"Guinan." Picard couldn't help the dry, cautious note to his voice.

"I've a special table all ready for you, Jean-Luc." She radiated her beneficent smile down upon them. "Right in front. Everyone can gawk without being too obvious or having to strain their necks."

She patted Jean-Luc's arm but looked squarely at Beverly. "It's about time."

For some reason, she reminded Beverly of an approving governess.

"Guinan!" Picard was beginning to be worried about what the barkeep would do. Her very unpredictability was the only predictable thing about her other than her bizarre style of dress.

"Lighten up, Jean-Luc. It's about time your crew learned that you're a man, too. Or, was I the only one who was ever supposed to know?"

Picard glanced at Beverly. She clearly had some new questions about his old relationship with Guinan. He hoped that she would ask those questions later. Much later and in the privacy of his quarters.

He sighed. Mightily. Then he glared at Guinan. But he found it hard to sustain his ire when she was giving him such a goofy smile. Guinan was wearing a rhomboid shaped hat and matching outfit in a particularly virulent shade of purple. He was entertained by her appearance in spite of himself.

"Very interesting outfit."

"Thank you." Guinan appeared to be annoyed by his compliment.

Then she escorted the captain and the doctor to a table, waved her fingers, and a waiter wearing a green checkered uniform appeared with a bottle of champagne.

"It seemed appropriate," she explained, as she popped the cork on a '47 brut champagne. From the Picard vineyards, of course.

"Wave a red flag, shall we?" Jean-Luc muttered under his breath.

Riker stepped forward again, to the front of the stage, garnering some attention. "We are honored to have our captain and our CMO with us tonight." He nodded towards Picard. "Captain, if you have any requests, please let me know."

"What have I done," Picard muttered to Beverly. He took in the sight of his very amused First Officer. And he was not amused.

"Soul of discretion, hmmm…?" Was Beverly's sole response.

Riker began the set. And Picard found himself actually enjoying the music, when he started to relax. He tipped his glass towards Beverly, they clinked and then they drank.

Ten-Forward took note of everything.

And then, Mr. Data stepped forward. "In the style of Tony Bennett, Commander Riker will now perform "Isn't It Romantic?", a late 20th century Earth composition. I shall be the vocalist."

Picard knew a cue when he heard one. And he had a debt to pay.

"Doctor." He stood and formally bowed toward his seated lady. "Shall we dance?"

Beverly was surprised. She hadn't quite believed that Picard really would ask her to dance. Being forced to dance at diplomatic functions and admiralty dinners was not quite the same as being asked to dance by a lover. Now, he was literally declaring to one and all that she was indeed his date. And part of her rejoiced in the idea, glad that he was making such a public statement.

She stood, took his hand, and let him lead her into the music.

Mr. Data was his usual self. Riker tried to match the android's musicality. It worked. Though the band could have been off-key, not playing the same music measure together at the same time, and with the drummer drumming to another tune, and it all wouldn't have mattered one bit. The only thing that mattered was that the captain was dancing with his doctor. And there was no official obligation in sight - just personal ones.

Deanna grabbed Geordi's hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. Other couples joined them.

Beverly's body brushed against his. At first, it was accidental, but then Beverly recollected the fun of blatant behavior. She knew that she'd reap the rewards later on tonight.

A thrust of the hip here, the graze of a breast there, all to seductive rhythms - she wondered how long it would be before he decided to drag her by her hair from Ten-Forward.

He surprised her. It took two more dances including a samba, before he conceded to her their silent lover's battle. And he even ignored the knowing looks that were sent in their direction.

The worst look came from Guinan. It was way too-knowing. She joined them at their table, smiling benignly. "Think everybody in the admiralty knows about you two by now? Or, do you want to give it another couple of minutes?"

"It's up to the lady."

"No, Jean-Luc. It's always been up to you." Guinan smiled. "You both look thirsty. Something new?" she challenged.

"Uh, something new might be nice," Beverly agreed.

"I'll see what I can do." Guinan sashayed away.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Hush Beverly. Wait until Guinan's out of hearing range."

"Where would that be? Deep Space Nine?"

He laughed. Loudly. And did not even notice his crew's shocked reaction to the sound of their captain's amusement. The possibility that their captain really did have a sense of humor had been a heretofore unsubstantiated rumor amongst most of the lower decks. Few had ever been privy to this side of Jean-Luc Picard.

He was still chuckling, as Beverly casually asked, "You know, I don't remember Jack ever mentioning Guinan."

"My relationship with Guinan has always bordered on the unusual, Beverly. But I am surprised that Jack had not mentioned the lady. Guinan was Jack's friend too."

His words captured Beverly's interest. "On board the Stargazer?"

"Not exactly. Guinan did provide Jack's tribble if you recall Walker's version of that story. However, there are some tales that are best told when we do not have an observing audience. And have the time." He mentally added, "Or best told not at all."

Beverly wisely heeded his warning and returned her attention to the musicians. Will was performing a very creditable solo performance in the style of the Deneb Five's version of "Take Five".

"Will's actually been practicing." Beverly meant it as a compliment.

"Really?" Picard finished off the last of his champagne. "I never suspected that my Number One had quite so much talent. Should I recommend to him that he become a full-time musician and a part-time Commander?"

"The Enterprise could always use a music teacher." She broke off, laughing. "I'm just imagining Will's face at hearing such a suggestion. I'm sure that he'd appreciate more career advice…"

Jean-Luc smiled at the thought, but then suddenly stopped. "If Will doesn't do something about his career and soon, that may be the only career advice that I can give him."

His voice was low, but Beverly heard him.

"What?"

"Another matter suitable for discussion in private, Beverly." He shook his head in dismay. "Have I done my Number One a disservice by relying on him too much?"

His ruminations ended when Guinan approached carrying a tray with two crystal tankards that were churning, spewing forth a distinctive effluvium into the air of Ten-Forward.

With a flourish, she presented them to the couple. "You drinks, Jean-Luc. Beverly. I'm considering calling it Better Late Than Never. Enjoy."

With that, she rapidly walked away from them.

"Uh-oh," Beverly uttered. "It's never a good sign when Guinan won't wait around to hear what people think of her new concoctions." She looked squarely into Jean-Luc's eyes, and asked, "You love me? I didn't mistake your words in the corridor, did I?"

Somewhat caught out, he responded, "No. I did say that I love you and I meant it, Beverly."

She poised her straw over the tankard's rim, contemplating the possibility that her straw would melt if she dropped it into her blurping drink. Twirling the twinkling orange iridescent stirrer between her fingers, she pointed it at him.

"You go first."

He laughed. Out loud. Again. And the crowd in the lounge reacted, again, to this sound.

"At your service, Beverly Crusher." He shuddered, looking down into the murky brown liquid that was still smoldering. "In the future, Beverly, please do remember what I am willing to do for you. And only for you."

"The ultimate sacrifice. Such bravery. So noted."

"We who are about to…"

Beverly interrupted his misquote.

"Drink, Jean-Luc. Doctor's orders."

There was a look to his eye that clearly indicated his recollection of other recent doctor's orders.

She ignored his unspoken allusion. "Of course. You're the one who began this dilemma. You're the one who hints at mysterious matters concerning its creator. So, drink up, Jean-Luc. And if it is not synthehol, pray that I remember all of the ingredients to my Nana's hangover recipe. I always thought that it worked better than the hypo-spray solutions." She warily eyed the drink. "You started it. You drink it." She smiled a little, self-pleased, bird-like smile. "Enjoy."

He picked up his glass tankard. And a marvelous thing began to happen when the warmth from his fingers interacted with the glass. The liquid started to change. And it separated into the entire spectrum of the rainbow with a sudden golden pouf of effervescence rising up above the liquid and settling into a gilding presence about the rim of the tankard.

Now, he was not so hesitant. In his hand was a thing of intriguing beauty. He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped. Pleasure crossed over his tongue. He was amazed and relieved that Guinan's little joke did not tend toward the inclusion of Klingon ceremonial tea as an ingredient.

He heard the sound of clapping. Looking up, he saw Riker applauding his bravery. Never mind how far their relationship had developed since the day he had ordered Riker to first dock the separated Enterprise manually. His First Officer needed to be taught a lesson about the nature of his captain.

A swift tap to his ankle reminded him of Beverly's presence. Looking about, he realized that more than one pair of ears were listening for his opinion of Guinan's creation.

He took another sip. A long one.

"Acceptable." He thought that he heard someone cursing in the background.

Various flavors of nuts and then fruits crossed over the tip of his tongue.

Encouraged, Beverly picked up her glass. The same sparkling hues occurred as she sipped. She tasted unidentified alien fruit juices.

"Umm, this is delicious."

"I will order Guinan to rename it." On her questioning look, he explained, "She should name it after you."

"I think she already did." Still, she appreciated his gallantry eveb as she took another sip. Every sip was different. Complex.

"I wonder how long it took Guinan to create this…" She drank again. "This drink is not a casual concoction."

"You are correct." He put the glowing drink down. Half-muttering to himself, he added, "Damn her. She knew…"

Knowing that he should be explaining his remarks to his lovely companion, he added, "I will gladly concede to Guinan eccentricities in exchange for something as delicious and tasteful as this recipe."

"Thank you for admitting it, Jean-Luc."

The lovers were startled. Neither one had noticed the approach of Guinan.

He looked up at her. And glared.

"Yes, Jean-Luc?" Guinan waited expectantly.

"Send some of these drinks over to Riker and the band, with my compliments."

Guinan nodded. "I'll even embellish for no extra charge."

"That is not necessary, Guinan."

She merely watched him, giving him her all-knowing-look-of-the ancient-ones look. Guinan then directed that specific look at Beverly.

"'Bout time someone rattled that cozy little gilded cage of yours, Jean-Luc." Guinan's look challenged the doctor. "Time to really claim him as yours - if you really want him, that is."

"What do you suggest I do?" Beverly agreed with some of Guinan's assessment of Jean-Luc's situation. Besides, Guinan's insubordinate mood was infectious, and Beverly was catching it. She'd been a good girl for far too long.

"Kiss him."

Beverly didn't have to look at Jean-Luc to know that he had an instinctive, appalled expression on his face.

Guinan, however, had another kind of look on her face. For an instant, Beverly saw a doorway open into the woman's soul, hinting at a spirit that had spent centuries refining a wicked sense of humor, dedicated to deflating the pompous. Even if one of the pompous was a dear friend.

Guinan caught something in Beverly's expression that caused her smile to broaden.

Jean-Luc saw it too. "Beverly, don't you dare…"

But Beverly did dare.

Quickly.

On the lips.

And when he recognized that his crew's captainly perception had been altered forever, he figured what the hell? So he kissed her back. And this time, he lingered for more than a moment, enjoying the taste of her, the touch of her, until Beverly was putty in his arms.

When he finally raised his head, he noticed a few jaws hitting the café table tops again. His carefully constructed image would never quite be the same again. His one consolation was the poleaxed expression on Will's face, as his exec eventually got around to propping up his jaw.

Then Jean-Luc turned his piercing, titanium grey, sharp, displeased gaze upon Guinan.

"Madam Guinan, I always repay my debts."

Guinan had no doubt that one day he would. They'd been playing this game for a long time. A lesser being might have quaked. Guinan only benignly smirked.

"I know you do, Jean-Luc. I'm only doing what a good ship's barkeep should do - keeping her captain alert. And confounded." She glided away, almost as if there were wheels under her agitating robes instead of legs.

Beverly looked at Jean-Luc. But the expression on his face didn't seem to involve his opinion of Guinan's antics. "Now what?"

She felt a bit embarrassed by the kiss and then her response. Had she over-stepped Jean-Luc's personal boundaries? Had she gone too far?

"Shall we go?" His voice revealed not a damn thing about his feelings.

She hadn't been this unsure of her captain's reaction to her behavior since the days she'd tried to prove that her Ferengi scientist friend, Dr. Reyga, had been murdered.

He sensed the nervousness in her voice and forced himself to smile, though it was not altogether a reassuring smile.

"If we leave, there will be conjecture about what we next will be doing," Picard mused.

Again, he noticed Riker's deliberative looks. He instinctively stiffened, pulling his grave dignity about him as if it were a shield.

Beverly sounded subdued as she spoke. "And if we decide not to leave?"

"I may expire from frustration," he unexpectedly replied. He was acceding to his fate. Accepting the lunacy of his position. Surrendering to his feelings.

He looked at Guinan, decided to hold her smug look against her at some future date, and quietly conceded to her this round.

Suddenly, the stern smile that was part of his captain's façade changed into something else - warm, understanding, and very, very masculine. And he directed it solely at Beverly.

"Shall we?"

The words were formally expressed. They hid the fervent essence behind his gaze, when, for a brief instant, passion-filled memories shone.

Beverly saw not the stare of her commanding officer. Instead, she was beholding the man. And she was thrilled.

Riker watched them approach the stage. He tried to squelch his still visible astonishment at his captain's behavior. For he wasn't that surprised about the way Beverly was behaving. Riker still had vivid memories of what the uninhibited Beverly was like in private. But Jean-Luc? Had he ever really known his captain?

"Thank you, Will. I don't know when I've found jazz so pleasurable before. One could even say it was stimulating." The captain's look could hold a suspicion of deviltry, too.

"Thank you, Captain. Doctor. I'm glad that you found some pleasure in the music."

Will's voice sounded normal, even though the expression on his face indicated that he thought Q was paying them a visit.

Picard put his arm about Beverly's waist, and hugged her close to his side.

'I will take the Beta shift, tomorrow. Goodnight, Will."

And with this, they left.

Saurian dream dust - that was the only explanation that Riker had for his hallucinating vision of the captain and the doctor kissing in full view of the ship. And that they were now walking out of Ten-Forward, holding hands.

Beverly controlled herself until they were well out of ear-shot of anyone in the corridors.

"That was absolutely awful of you, Jean-Luc. Nasty. However are you going to face Will during your duty watch tomorrow?"

She knew that she'd asked a foolish question the moment she'd uttered those words. There wasn't an officer alive who could ruffle Jean-Luc's feathers when he was wearing his captain's mask.

"Forget that I said that, Jean-Luc."

Picard laughed, pleased with himself at the moment. And entranced with the presence of Beverly holding his hand.

"I will."

When they reached Beverly's corridor, he glanced about, made sure that there was no one covertly observing them, and then with a grace belied by strength, he hefted Beverly up, carrying her into her quarters. He ignored her not-too-serious squeals of protest.

He held her close, not willing to put her down. He was pleased that he could now freely nuzzle her hair. And touch her when he desired.

"Jean-Luc…"

His name was a whisper across her trembling lips; a remembrance of both the past and a calling for the future. "I believe that you still owe me a dance or two." She found his answering smile to be enchanting.

"Or three or four." On her questioning look, he explained, "I believe that I need some more dancing lessons."

"You didn't step on my toes at all tonight when we were dancing."

"Ah yes, our dancing together." He mockingly chastised her. "Beverly, what you did to me on the dance floor was nothing short of scandalous."

Her smile was dazzling as she remembered his response. She eased out of his carry in order to embrace him. She was beginning to really like holding him like this whenever she wished.

"Do you disapprove?"

He shook his head and kissed her. "So, Beverly, I need further instruction in how to do to you what you did to me, tonight."

"Instruction? In the art of seduction? You?" She shook her head in denial. "No, you don't need my teachings, Jean-Luc. You already know way too much about seduction."

"But is my knowledge exactly what you wish it to be? Is it the way that you prefer it?"

"Well, if you are serious about furthering your education, I supposed I could teach you a thing or two. Or three."

"You sound greatly ambitious."

"I have time for great ambition, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly, we have to be on duty in the morning. There isn't any way that I can be too ambitious. I could not claim an illness - not even with a padd full of reports from my personal physician." He grinned at that thought. "Even if my doctor is the cause for my fatigue."

"Imagine what Will would make of that excuse…"

"I would rather imagine my Number One's reaction rather than consider how Mr. Data would respond," Picard countered. "There are certain android questions that I do not care to answer. And Mr. Data would most certainly ask them."

"Jean-Luc…" She moved a little closer to her lover.

"Yes, mon coeur?"

"Don't you have something more interesting to do than to discuss your senior officers right now?"

Her lips brushed his before she whispered an invitation. "Shall we dance?"

"My pleasure, Beverly."

She twirled into his arms.

"Computer, play 'Our Love is Here to Stay', my arrangement," Beverly ordered. "Will you follow my lead, Jean-Luc? I can teach you a few moves."

Music began to flow. Beverly lead Jean-Luc. He held her carefully, following her guidance.

"I wasn't jesting about the dance, mon coeur." Now he was guiding her - too carefully.

It took her a few seconds to figure out what was causing the awkwardness between them. "Relax, Jean-Luc. I won't bite."

"Then I am devastated."

He did relax. And for a time, they lost themselves in the music.

Gentle pressures. Familiar scents. Feather-weight caresses. Simple touches. All wove their magic as the lovers moved together.

Eventually, she noticed his fingers toying with the ties to the back of her dress.

"Jean-Luc…"

He could bring her to a state of sighs with barely a touch.

Knowing fingers searched and caressed.

Bit by bit, as they danced, their clothing drifted to the deck.

Jean-Luc stepped awkwardly, tripping over her skirt. Breaking their embrace, he barely avoided squishing her toes.

Beverly sidestepped neatly.

She tried not to laugh too loudly.

'You find my kisses amusing?" Picard dryly asked, still maintaining a bit of his sangfroid style in spite of this situation.

"Oh, yes," she teased. "And the way you dance, too."

"Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare!"

"I believe I made that request earlier."

Chagrin crossed her features; a ruddy hue brushed her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. Did I really embarrass you?"

He wanted to appear stern for a moment, but Beverly's concerned expression caught at his heart. He did the only thing that he could do under the circumstances. He chuckled.

"Beverly, I have worked for years to cultivate the absolutely perfect captain's image, and you steal it away with a mere kiss. Shocking behavior for a CMO."

"Jean-Luc…" Suddenly, she was indignant. "A mere kiss?"

He kissed her lightly. "Shocking," was his gallant response. His next kiss squelched any remnants of her ire. "Thank you, Beverly." He paused, enjoyed her confusion. He kissed her again with an even greater sense of passion, then added, 'And Beverly, do you really wish me to tell you what I think of your mere kisses?" Between kisses, he asked, "Shall I quote my favorite playwright?"

A particular throbbing vein on her neck attracted his lips. And he knew exactly what to do to bring her into such a trembling state in his arms. "Klingon love poetry? Avanerian metaphoric artists?"

"Jean-Luc?"

She suddenly embraced him with all of the passion she possess. Her mouth repaying him for each shiver that he had just created. His arms lifted her up into his kisses as hot blood hammered through both their veins.

"Yes, Beverly?" he gasped.

"You talk too much."

She kissed him again, dropped her arms, and stepped back away from him. Just enough so that her naked breasts were barely brushing against the hairs on his chest.

When he plundered a particularly vulnerable vein on the side of her neck, she stopped dancing. She couldn't remember to move her feet when her mind was overwhelmed with pulsing needs.

When he raised his lips from her collarbone, he asked in a surprisingly casual tone of voice, "And what was that you said about my dancing skills?"

It took her a moment to collect her thoughts in order to respond. "Jean-Luc, you are a very dangerous man - especially when you're dancing."

Later on, he would realize that her words were not precisely a compliment.

They resumed dancing, barely bothering to move to the music. He murmured against the softness of her flesh, his tongue tracing French phrases against silken skin. She did not need to translate them.

She sighed her approval, when they retreated to the sofa, for Jean-Luc refused to consider the floor again as a trysting place.

Light years were traversed before Beverly raised herself up by her elbows. Pushing against the grey twill fabric to her sofa, she stroked her lovers head, content to simply touch him now.

"Come to bed, Jean-Luc," was her request. It was a simple one that countless lovers have murmured to each other during the quiet hours of the night.

Picard raised his head up from Beverly's breast. The peace he knew from resting on her bosom was addictive, yet troublesome. He reluctantly stirred away from the soothing stroking of his lover.

By way of apology for disturbing their idyll, he slowly traced a finger over her breast, pleased by its instantaneous response to his touch.

"I'd best leave. It wouldn't do for the crew to see me out of uniform at the start of the duty shift." He was trying very hard not to feel awkward in this uneasy - for him - situation.

"You could replicate a uniform."

She wisely refrained from mentioning Jean-Luc's fondness for hand-tailored uniforms.

"Not tonight, Beverly." He stood and started picking up his clothing. And hers.

If it had been anyone other than Jean-Luc Picard, Beverly would have described his glances in her direction as nervous.

"Not prudent?" She couldn't but help to ask, truly trying not to be catty.

He stopped moving about and took a deep breath, recognizing her rights, and then forged ahead, having made some sort of internal decision.

"But tomorrow, I could bring a few personal things and place them…"

Beverly interrupted him. "In my closet? Yes, I'd like that. I'd even be willing to place a few of my things in your quarters. I'd even leave you a little bit of room in your closets." She waited for his reaction, but received none.

His back was to her. "Yes, Beverly." His voice was dispassionate. Neutral. He got dressed.

"Must you leave?" She had to at least try to keep him a while longer.

He knelt down by her side.

"I don't really wish to leave, Beverly. But it is for the best. For now." He kissed her cheek, then swiftly left, not looking back.

"Too much, too soon," she sadly whispered to her orchids, wondering how she was going to sleep without him, tonight. Those few days and nights in his cabin had spoiled her.

And now she knew that she still had many barriers to crash if they were going to have a true relationship. But an even more frightening thought was how easily she was letting him into her life.

The next morning she arrived at his quarters an extra forty-five minutes early. Somehow, she was not surprised that breakfast was already waiting for her. And so was her lover.

"We seem to think alike, Beverly," he observed as the door slid closed behind her.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Two days later, Jean-Luc Picard strode onto his bridge and motioned for Counselor Troi to join him in his ready room.

Deanna beamed her ascent as she stood.

He became slightly annoyed with this confirmation that Deanna seemed to be perpetually smiling whenever she glanced toward either himself or Beverly, now.

Riker sent a swift but covert glance toward his tactical officer.

"Thirty-two seconds to go," Lt. Worf mouthed.

Riker turned away as the captain and the counselor left the bridge. It would bode ill for the first officer if the captain caught him keeping watch over how close the captain was coming to being reported late for his shift.

Inside the ready room, Picard motioned for the counselor to be seated. He sat down behind his desk.

"Counselor." That sounded too formal. He cleared his throat. "Deanna."

"Yes, Captain?"

He fidgeted, tugged down his uniform, glanced over at Livingstone, and strummed his fingers against his computer monitor.

When he reached for his quartz shard, she began to speak.

"You wanted to see me? About what, Sir?"

"Deanna." He still could not find the proper way to broach the subject.

"Is it about you and the change in your relationship with Beverly?" the counselor suggested.

"Yes." He was uncomfortable about the entire affair. "How detrimental is it?"

"What do you consider to be detrimental, Captain?" she coldly asked, not quite surprised by this question and his reasoning. Image had always been paramount to the captain of the Enterprise, in the past. He had always presented himself as a man coolly in control of all circumstances - a source of security and confidence to those in need of confirmation. And now, he was beset with the most basic of doubts.

He spoke of his fears. "The gossip. The innuendoes." He was annoyed that he even had to explain himself to her. He pushed himself to his feet, using more energy than was required to do so. "Do I need damage control?"

Deanna burst into a light laugh which stilled the instant she sensed the truly serious nature of his inquiry. Her captain was over-reacting. Which was not exactly unexpected. But still, it was a grave matter to him.

"Sorry, Sir." She tried to sound sincere.

Picard didn't need empathic powers to know that his counselor really wasn't that apologetic.

She soothingly spoke. "Captain, you're making much too much of this. Everyone that knows you is pleased. Those that don't know you or care, will find new topics about which to gossip, very soon. In either case, you don't need damage control." She proffered her best, all-knowing counselor smile.

"Counselor…" he warned, yielding to her this concession. He didn't have to say how much he hated it when she was in the right.

Her smile became ever more knowing.

"And isn't that what you intended in the first place, by going public? Your behavior in Ten-Forward clearly indicated a desire to inform people about the nature of your changing personal relationship with Beverly."

"I'm over-reacting, aren't I?" He nodded as if in confirmation of this fact to himself. "I am in danger of making myself appear foolish over what is, after all, a normal facet of human behavior."

"Yes, Captain."

She now bestowed on her captain, her maddonaesque smile. "You're only proving to the crew that the man who is capable of captaining this starship, is also capable of being the captain of his own heart. You are human, you know."

She walked around the desk and kissed his cheek.

"And it is about time that you paid attention to your own life, Captain. You have spent too much of your life dedicated to doing your duty. Now, you should concentrate on other priorities. You have been alone for far too long. And so has Beverly."

"Do you have a point that you wish to make, Deanna?" He tried not to reveal his irritation at her perceptiveness. He wasn't comfortable with her knowledge of his self, even after knowing the counselor for many years. Even after baring his very tortured soul in the past to this woman. He didn't like discussing every single thing about his psyche with a counselor.

"You've always been a cautious, contemplative man, Captain Picard."

"Meaning?" Picard wasn't sure that he'd care for more of her insight at this moment.

"You will be doing both yourself and Beverly a disfavor, if you do not think of all the possibilities. The present is well and good. However, you do have quite a few choices for the future."

"And what precisely are they, Counselor?" he stiffly asked.

Another dazzling smile crossed over Deanna's lips. Then her expression changed as she considered serious answers to his question.

"Well, Beverly has to consider Wesley's thoughts about the change in your relationship," she answered, diverted by the knowledge that one of Wesley's greatest adolescent wishes had finally come true.

Picard chose to take her words quite soberly. "I will not allow my personal relationships to be dictated to by a cadet."

"And what of Beverly's wishes?" There was a decidedly harsh edge to this question.

Picard was taken back by it. This was the first time he'd ever heard this particular tone of voice directed toward his own self.

Deanna forged onward. "Beverly has to consider Wesley's feelings as well as yours. Or didn't you think about that before you created this situation, Captain?"

"We didn't think," Picard admitted only to himself. Then he straightened up, tugging again at his tunic. "Wesley's feelings are irrelevant This af…. Er, situation is strictly between Beverly and myself."

Picard tried to appear to be as a reasonable man. In his heart, he knew he was failing. Miserably. He'd forgotten about Wesley in his pursuit of Beverly. He'd forgotten about a Wesley that he'd personally forced to accept a life of ostracization at Starfleet Academy. A Wesley who had more reason to now hate him than to accept him. He inwardly groaned, and admitted it to himself. He was a fool.

Deanna was right.

His relationship with Beverly didn't stand a chance against the force known as Wesley.

Oh, the Admiralty could object, and the pair of them would overcome it. Fellow officers could disapprove, and they would be ignored. But a beloved son?

A starless, vacuum-cold wind swirled about his heard. He withdrew to a place that was safe, without a heart that could break.

Almost as if he were speaking to himself as an afterthought, he muttered, "It is impractical for me to discuss marriage."

She still heard him. "And is that what you want? Marriage?"

"It is a possibility - now, a remote possibility." He didn't add that after Wesley found out, it would become an improbability.

The counselor's clear, understanding voice was compassionate and reassuring. "Don't wait to long to decide what to do, Captain. Beverly might still change her mind."

His severe look told her everything that she needed to know. He was profoundly and deeply in love with her friend. And it was the best thing that had happened to either of them in a very long time.

For the first time since she'd known Jean-Luc Picard, Deanna perceived that he might actually be re-evaluating and analyzing his position in life; what it had cost him to achieve it, and what the future price would be if he maintained it. It was time that the man who was unknowingly rewriting the manual on how to be a great starship captain, learned more about the man that he was capable of being.

Her voice was soft and caring as she interrupted his mental ruminations. "Who knows, traditions may change. The Enterprise might even survive one day having a captain who is married."

And with overpowering optimism and faith in his humanity, the counselor left the ready room, pleased with the knowledge that she had given her captain and friend, a shaking up.

"Or perhaps not," was his dark response after he watched Deanna leave.

He turned to gaze upon his beloved stars. The lessons he'd learned from his relationship with Nella still weighed heavily on his heart. Now that he had admitted his love for Beverly, how could he order her into danger? Either their situation changed, or Beverly would have to resign her Starfleet commission. She could still stay on board as CMO, but only as a civilian so she would not be obligated to risk her life when ordered to do so.

He mentally groaned, knowing that sooner or later he would have to have this discussion with Beverly. And he had more than a suspicion that she would not like the topic. Or his solution. Or be reasonable about it.

And then there still was the matter of Wesley…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"I've never before taken you for a fool, Jean-Luc."

"What?"

He looked up from studying his almost empty glass, staring at Guinan as she polished a glass behind her bar. She was dressed in, what was for her, a subdued ensemble of rippling, stippled mocha fudge.

The outfit's color matched the captain's mood - muddied and muddled.

Ten-Forward was closed at the moment. Its only occupants were the captain and the barkeep.

"Don't force the issue with Beverly. Grow comfortable with the fact that you are lovers before you get around to dictating to her."

"I am the captain." He didn't care for Guinan's answering look. "What makes you think that I would dictate to Beverly?"

Guinan shook her head in disgust, her velveteen hat sproinging with each movement.

"You've ordered her into danger before. You will, in the future. Don't start restricting Beverly's movements. She'll comply - but she'll never really forgive you. And that will be the trial that will destroy your relationship."

"Guinan, why are you so helpful? Some would consider your actions contradictory."

"Surely, you know that I don't mind your lovers, Jean-Luc. Just as you didn't mind most of my husbands. It's our lasting relationship that counts."

She finished inspecting the glass in her hands, poured liquor into it and then shoved Jean-Luc's brandy toward him, moving aside his other empty glass.

"It's not synthehol. I thought that you might be needing the real thing tonight. Face the truth, Jean-Luc," she suggested. Then she inspected him.

"Do I pass muster?"

His bitter attitude surprised her.

"Don't take your frustrations out on me, Jean-Luc Picard." She leaned forward and looked directly into his stormy grey eyes. Her tone of voice was poisonously honest. "Don't hurt Beverly, or you'll wish that you'd never introduced us. She is my friend."

Then she smiled pleasantly. Sweetly.

Picard had always found these particular smiles to be most worrisome. "I hadn't realized that she was such a close friend of yours." His voice was neutral, hiding his surprise. There was a surreal nature to their conversation. "Besides, I thought that we were beyond friendship."

"We are. She is. Which is why I am going to break a confidence."

Claxon's rang in his head.

"Perhaps you shouldn't."

Guinan ignored his words. "Jack Crusher was not her only choice."

Picard abruptly put down his snifter, sloshing some of the dark liquid onto the bar. He realized what he had done, and picked his goblet back up, sipping, acting as if he were in still in control.

"What?" He was proud of the fact that his voice was steady.

"Oh, Beverly loved Jack. But, there was always something there with you, too. Wesley could have been your son, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc choked on his brandy.

"Guinan, you go too far."

"Oh, really? I usually think of myself as pretty restrained." She smiled at him.

Jean-Luc was getting really tired of people smiling at him. "What is it, Guinan? Why did you see fit to inform me of matters that I already knew?" He was royally irritated.

"You're just fulfilling your destiny with Beverly, mon capitaine. You don't know how much joy it gives me to say that." She turned away from him and found some twizzlers with which to play. Pick-up sticks seemed appropriate.

Picard took umbrage. "Meaning." The word sounded like an order.

"Don't fight your fate, Jean-Luc. It could be better than you imagine."

He hesitated but forged ahead. "And what does your precognition tell you? Does the future include the Enterprise?"

"The fact that you could even ask that question is in itself your answer, Captain." She shook her head even as she studied him, with the knowledge of the ancients both past and future, in her eyes. "You've already had The Enterprise. For seven years. Change is inevitable."

He slowly nodded. "I suspected as much."

"Not right away, Jean-Luc. But, it is coming."


	10. WES WINDS...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: You didn't think I'd just leave the lovers alone after they'd finally gotten together, did you? Remember ATTACHED MEANT is a novel, not a novella. I just thought that it would be fun to see what daily life would be like for the lovers, for a few chapters. Then we'll get on to the more important stuff. The whole purpose of this story is as I said before, writing about what should have happened - which is a far cry from what eventually did happen. If you haven't already noticed, this is an A/U novel.

CHAPTER TEN: Wes Winds…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

He heard them talking, even before he rounded the corner to enter his laboratory. He didn't even wonder what his lab mates were discussing - it had to concern him. The only time Wesley Crusher's team mates ever talked in his presence was when they absolutely had to for class work, or when they had some message to convey that would hurt him either professionally, personally or emotionally.

Wesley had acquired a very thick skin even since he'd been demoted. Though, there were moments when he was quite sick of all of this. He was tired of being the pariah of Starfleet Academy.

The thought that he didn't really belong here, crossed over his mind one more time. As of late, it was a recurring theme.

But Captain Picard and his Mom would be so disappointed in him if he quit…

He shook his head and stepped into the lab. He deliberately made some noise, bumping into a panel before he entered.

Dead silence greeted him. He strode toward the semi cubicle that had been designated as his office. He put down the result padds he'd been carrying on his desk, and then pivoted about, to face the four members of his team.

"You've something to say to me?"

Wesley kept his voice even, calm, carefully controlled. He'd learned that much, as least, from Captain Picard.

Sophomore cadet Bronislawa Olezewski, unaffectionately referred to as Brawny - though it was an apt nickname - stepped up to Wesley, crowding his personal space. For if ever there was a human female that could mate with a Nausicaan, it was this cadet. Privately, Wesley thought that she should have been concentrating on being a tactical officer rather than a scientist.

"Only the latest Starfleet gossip."

The tone of her reply bordered on insubordination when directed to the group captain and senior cadet. But Wesley knew that no cadet ethics review board would ever side with him against another cadet, unless the offense was a criminal flagrant violation - and included the breaking of the Prime Directive. Even then, he'd might only have a fifty percent chance to win.

"You might as well tell me, Cadet."

He turned his back to her, and didn't even react when she stepped up behind him. He did not allow the fact that her shadow was almost half a meter taller than his, to bother him. For he'd spent a lot of time with Mr. Worf and had learned how to cope with intimidating people.

"You know that you intend to do so. Well, do it now. We've got to get our project report finished as soon as possible."

He faced her. Capturing her brown ursine like gaze with his own steady look, he contined. "I don't know about you, Cadet Olezewski, but I've got no time to waste. I need to study." He folded his arms. "So?"

"We were talking about the Enterprise." Another voice was heard from as a gaunt, short cadet stepped forward and smirked.

Both Bronislawa and Wesley stared at Ben Elkanah. And for once, both were in sync, thinking the same thing - how had this toad made it this far in the Academy? Granted, he was smart. Every cadet that was a member of Wes' team was smart - very smart. But Elkanah seemed to be lacking in every other necessary quality that would make him a Starfleet officer. At least by Captain Picard's standards.

"Cadet, you're out of line," Brawny barked.

Somewhat surprised by Cadet Olezewski's support, Wesley ordered, "Out with it, Cadet Elkanah."

"Well…" Ben always enjoyed being the center of attention, especially when he could get someone else's goat. "It seems that Captain Jean-Luc Picard has a new whore. Seems the CMO of the Enterprise is now spending her nights in his cabin."

Brawny gasped in shock over Ben's choice of words. She was half-expecting to have to constrain Wesley over Ben's behavior. All three of the cadets were expecting a fight.

But Wesley had learned a lot about life's rules from the poker games on board the Enterprise; those both on the bridge and in Riker's quarters. He put his experience to good use. He smiled. That was something no one was expecting.

"Good news, indeed. I've been wanting them to come together for years." He leaned forward and started to successfully intimidate Elkanah with his best Riker putting a subordinate on report attitude. "So explain to me, Cadet, what business it is of yours?"

"Uh, none." Ben gulped.

Wesley just continued to smile.

Elkanah seemed even more threatened by this, before he added, "Sir. I just thought that you'd like to know."

"I appreciate your concern, Cadet." He turned on his heel, and ignored Ben. He concentrated his attention on Brawny. "Thank you, Cadet." He automatically tugged down his tunic. Then he turned back to Elkanah. "You were aware that Dr. Crusher has been head of Starfleet Medical? She anticipates returning to the job." He watched as Elkanah blanched for this cadet had high medical career aspirations for himself - and had apparently not bothered to do his research about his mother. "Dr. Crusher might find amusing your opinion of her relationship with Captain Picard. But if you ever use that word in reference to my Mother again, I will make sure that Captain Picard learns who said it. I do not think that he will be so amused."

Wesley looked at the other members of his group. "Meeting in fifteen minutes. And all of your reports had better be ready."

Hours later, Wesley sent off a sub-space message request to his mother for he no longer had the privilege of direct access to sub-space communications that any normal senior cadet would have. His requests for personal communications had to be approved beforehand.

Almost twenty hours later, his mother responded.

"Wesley, how good to hear from you." She said every word with a smile on her lips that did not quite reach her eyes.

"I know, Mom," was his soft response.

"Know what?" Her voice cracked.

"About you. And Captain Picard…" His voice broke. "You know, Mom, there was a time I'd have given anything for the two of you to be together. It was my all-time favorite day-dream. You and Captain Picard. The next best man in the universe to my Dad. And now, it's just a cruel joke. On me."

"Wesley, that's not true. Of course, I am concerned about your feelings. But, I cannot deny what I feel for Jean-Luc. This is between the two of us. We have a lot to work out."

"And with the great Captain Picard want me around? I think not. What if the two of you get married? I can never be the stepson that Captain Picard deserves to have."

"Wesley, what are you saying? I don't understand."

"I'm at the top of my class, Mom. And not even a garbage scow captain has requested me for duty when I graduate. I'll never be an officer on a starship again."

"Wesley… You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." Wesley's smile was bittersweet, as he added, "And as for you and Captain Picard - Mom, the only thing I've ever wanted for you was to be happy. And if he does bring you happiness, then all I can be is glad for the both of you." Something beeped. "I've got to go to class. Bye, Mom."

Her view screen went blank. Beverly sat in the dark for a while, considering what Wesley had told her. She stared at her plants but didn't notice which ones needed pruning. Her thoughts were in a turmoil over her son's revelations. She went in search of solutions, and found Jean-Luc in his quarters.

He put down his flute and looked up as she entered, somewhat surprised by her sudden arrival.

'Is it dinner time already?" His voice trailed off as he studied the expression on his lover's face. Something had clearly upset her. He stood and went to her, enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

"Tell me."

And she did.

But he didn't say the consoling words that she was expecting to hear. He dropped his arms, and stepped away from her, becoming a Starfleet officer instead of her lover.

"He's right, you know. No Starfleet captain will take a chance with Wesley on board their ship. His record's too damnable."

"So what is Wesley to do?"

"If Wesley were interested in being a research scientist in any of his preferred fields, he'd probably be heading up a Daystrom Institute department in a year. Not one of his professors has ever denied that Wesley is a genius and talented in a great many fields. His grades still reflect that."

And Beverly realized that her captain had been quietly monitoring her son for some time. She was touched.

Picard ordered a cup of Earl Grey for himself and an herbal blend for Beverly. He put down the cups and walked over to his portal. He consulted the stars for a while before continuing to answer Beverly's question.

"But if Wesley wishes to become a command track starship officer, that is just not going to happen."

He heard her sudden gasp. Ignoring it, he sat down on his sofa and picked up his cup a tea. A few sips later, he finally spoke. "I'll request Wesley for the Enterprise, albeit against my better judgment."

She gasped again.

"Not for the obvious reasons, Beverly. One of the reasons I forced Wesley to go to the Academy was so that he could break away from the Enterprise family. If he'd had stayed here, he would have eventually become a fully ranked Starfleet officer just based on my recommendations and his accomplishments alone. But I wished for Wesley to acquire other new experiences in Starfleet before he returned to us. But now, when he returns, it will be awkward with him on board."

"Because?" She sat down next to him, ignoring her tea. She clasped his hand.

"Beverly, how does Wesley feel about our relationship?"

"He accepts it. In fact, he's upset because he thinks that you are the one who will be dishonored by an association with him."

"Nonsense."

"Please tell Wesley that. He needs to hear it."

"Beverly, it's something that he has to learn for himself."

Abruptly standing, Jean-Luc walked over and picked up some silverware from a drawer, and started to set the table. Judging by the look on Beverly's face, he decided to do some more explaining.

"After he graduates, if Wesley does get posted to the Enterprise, he will have to learn how to cope. It will be difficult and problematic for all of us. But, Wesley is a man now; soon to become an ensign."

"He will get through it, Jean-Luc."

"I won't be able to help - officially or unofficially. How I deal with Wesley will be monitored closely by command. I can show no favoritism - especially because of our relationship."

He went to her and pulled her into a hug. "But that doesn't mean that all of Wesley's other friends cannot help him. Discreetly, of course." He kissed her forehead. "When Wesley returns, it will be as a disgraced officer being given a second chance - his last chance. What happens next will be solely up to him."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

He felt embarrassed in contacting Robert. He could count a rare number of times he'd willingly called his brother over the last twenty years, on one hand. Even after their reconciliation, their relationship was still a fragile, strained fraternal connection.

"Jean-Luc." Robert looked as mystified as Jean-Luc felt by being hailed by his brother.

"Robert. It is good to see you again." Picard stared at his screen, searching for uncontroversial words to say to his brother. "How is Marie?"

"Fine."

"Rene?"

"Fine."

Picard glanced at his calendar and noted the Earth date. "The harvest?"

"Fine." Robert cracked a glimmer of a smile. "Fine will be the same answer to all of your questions about our health, the neighbors, the weather and the wine sales. So, why have you really called me?"

Turning a little red, Jean-Luc explained, "Granmere's jewelry. Do you still have it?"

Suddenly, Robert put aside his brotherly antagonism He was alert and attentive. "It is still in my safe where father put it thirty-three years ago. Why?"

"There is a dark blue sapphire and pearl ring that I remember. I'd like you to ship it to me."

"Why?" Robert's voice was almost chilly, sounding highly suspicious.

Picard automatically reacted to this attitude. "Because it's mine." Thinking that his response sounded somewhat childish, he tried a more reasonable approach. "And I wish to give it as a gift to someone."

"That's good. Somehow I didn't think sapphires were your style."

Jean-Luc ignored his brother. "Granmere did leave to me her jewelry for that purpose. As I believe you were given Mama's jewelry."

Robert considered what Jean-Luc had just revealed to him. "A woman, eh, in your life?" He glanced over at his wife who had just entered the vineyard office. He loudly announced, "Jean-Luc has a woman." He was beginning to sound insufferably pleased.

Marie nodded. "I know."

Somewhat nonplussed, both brothers together said, "You do?"

Marie nodded again. "Her name's Beverly."

Jean-Luc groaned aloud. "Bon jour, Marie. I take it that you have heard the rumors, then."

"No. I'm not privy to Starfleet gossip."

"Then how did you know about Beverly?"

Marie sighed, as if she found both brothers to still be so silly. "Jean-Luc, ever since I first started talking to you, there has only been one woman in your life that ever brings a wistful look to your eye. And that is Beverly." She then proceeded to surprise her husband by sitting on his lap so that she could properly view the view screen too.

"The only way you're going to get any of Granmere's jewelry is if you finally bring this extraordinary lady to meet us," Robert complained.

"I think I need Granmere's ring in order to bribe her to come visit you, Robert. I've told the lady a great deal about you already. She will need a bribe."

Robert nodded, ruefully imagining all of the things that Jean-Luc could have told his lady about the Picard family. "All right. I'll send it to you but only on Marie's condition - you bring the lady to meet us. I must have my chance to tell the lady all of your secrets too. Family should get to know each other, Jean-Luc. It is one of Father's tradition much as you disdained following them. But it is one that you should respect. I would like to attend your wedding at least."

Picard understood his brother's testiness. He now felt that he really should have put aside personal grievances and attended his brother's wedding. And after finally getting to know Marie, he felt doubly guilty about his past actions.

"I promise you, that if the lady agrees to become family, I will tell you right away." Picard's expression softened as he thought of Beverly meeting Marie. "I never thought that I'd ever have a reason to introduce to her, Marie. Much less have a need for Granmere's jewelry."

"She must be a very extraordinary woman," Marie agreed.

"Especially if she puts up with you, little brother," Robert added. Robert displayed another ghost of a smile.

"She is, indeed. A woman extraordinaire. In all ways."

Marie interrupted them sensing that their brotherly debates could go on for hours. For they had in the past. She was too impatient to learn the important details.

"I'll welcome Beverly like the sister she will be if she is anything at all even remotely like your descriptions of her. Jean-Luc."

"She is - that and more."

The strength and warmth of Jean-Luc's smile at his thoughts of Beverly were all that Marie really needed to learn about the doctor. For Jean-Luc had revealed what was in his heart. And Marie was well-satisfied with this answer.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Will Riker was strictly business around his captain. He intimated nothing, even though Worf had finally yielded that the First Officer had the right to know the location of his captain at all times. Besides, postings of the captain's whereabouts were common knowledge amongst the ship's crew, anyway. In fact, the betting pools pertaining to the dates of a proposal and the dates of a wedding were already full.

But every once in a while, Riker would allow himself a knowing grin behind his captain's back. He was pleased that two of his best friends, the two people that he respected the most in this universe, had finally come to their senses.

Picard glanced up from his captain's chair and caught a fraction of one such smile.

"Number One, do you wish to speak to me?"

Realizing that he may have been caught out, Riker asked, "In private, Captain?" For there was another matter that he'd been meaning to discuss with his captain.

Picard nodded, stood and walked away from his chair, and went to his ready room. Riker followed.

"Off the record, Sir?" was the first thing out of Riker's mouth.

Picard disliked the tone of this request but agreed. He wasn't so sure that he wanted to discuss anything that his first officer needed to discuss with him - off the record.

"Of course, Number One. Will. I've always prided myself on the frank speaking of my senior officers. That's been one of my standing orders."

"I know, Sir. That's why I asked."

Will sat in the chair opposite of the captain's. He spent a few moments getting comfortable, much to the annoyance of his captain. He tugged his tunic down too. Only then, did he decide to give voice to his concerns.

"Captain Picard, why did you request Cadet Crusher for posting on the Enterprise? I just saw the request. Personnel requests usually are my department - my decision."

Picard stood and went over to the replicator.

"Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." He stared at Riker, and nodded in the direction of his mug. "Anything, Commander?"

Somewhat surprised that Picard even asked, Riker replied, "Coffee. Double cream."

Riker could count on one hand the number of times the captain had offered him something to drink in his ready room. Not that Picard was deliberately being inhospitable when he neglected to offer his officers refreshment. It was simply that Picard never thought of it. He'd always commanded with a formal style. The ready room was his office. Familiarity with his officers, such as the sharing of a cup of tea, was simply not the way that this captain did things. And Riker understood this.

Riker accepted his cup from the captain, and patiently waited for Picard to answer his question.

Picard sat back down, took a sip of his tea, and considered Will's words.

"I meant no disrespect to your area of purview, Will. I merely wanted to assure Cadet Crusher of the same fair chance that we are giving Ensign Sito." He took another sip of his tea. "Wesley Crusher will continue to pay for his mistake with the Nova Squadron. It will be your job, Will, to ensure this. He's not coming back home to friends, Will. Wesley is returning to us as a Starfleet officer with a questionable record. And he will be treated as such. By all of us."

"Does Wesley know?"

"I will inform him, if you agree he can come." Picard finished off his tea. "If Wesley can survive the officers of the Enterprise as his own worst enemy, Starfleet Command will eventually come to respect him too. And forgive him his mistake. Will, the Enterprise is Wesley's only chance to become a command officer. His last chance to save his career."

"As I should know," Will muttered under his breath.

Picard heard him, but refrained from commenting.

"Understood, Captain. But you really should have asked me first."

"In this case, I thought that it was wiser to discuss it with his mother before I mentioned it to you, Will."

Riker controlled his grin. "In this case, I do understand, Captain."

Riker stood, putting down his empty cup, and walked over to the door. "Thank you, Captain, for your time."

"Of course, Will."

As the door to the ready room swished open, Riker added, "Beverly loves a single red rose at the most unexpected moments."

Picard raised an eyebrow in astonishment.

"Just a recommendation from Ambassador Odan."

With this, Riker pivoted and left the ready room, positive that he was being dismissed though he privately thought that his captain was just a little bit too discombobulated right now, to say a word.

And when Picard analyzed Will's words after a moment, he recognized two things.

One: Beverly had continued her relationship with Odan even when the Ambassador had been inhabiting his Number One's body.

Two: He was jealous as hell of his Number One.

Beverly really should have told him.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Beverly…"

Her name was quietly said. Calmly said. With great control, as he put aside his croissant with the confidence of a man knowing that honey would not dare drip off of it and onto his fingers. Captain Jean-Luc Picard would never have sticky fingers.

She hid her nervousness behind the use of her ecru linen napkin, glancing over at him, questioning the way he said her name. Whenever he used that particular tone of voice, a Delta Ranan hell was about to break out. Or something even worse. Even during their breakfast in bed.

She sat up, deliberately letting the covers fall to her waist, hoping that a little exposure might distract, or at least soften, her commanding officer. Even though she knew that her partial nudity wouldn't work this time.

"Will spoke to me in private, yesterday."

"Oh?"

She tried to sound as calm as Jean-Luc did. But then he startled her by lowering his lips to a vulnerable spot by her ear lobe. His teeth nibbled. Piercing shards of pleasure radiated from his touch, melting her senses. She moaned.

Then she remembered. It was his inflection when he'd said the name 'Will' that gave Beverly a clue.

"Odan."

"Umhuh.."

She countered his move by leaning back against his pillows and stretching before pulling him down on top of her.

He recognized immediately the significance of her actions. And he was glad that both of them were going on duty at the Beta Shift.

"You know about Will."

"He cares for you - and remembers everything that Odan did."

Beverly turned red. She had not known that fact. Because she had never had the courage to confront Will after Odan had left the Enterprise. Now, she regretted her cowardice. Will had memories. It was embarrassing.

"I have nothing to apologize for, Jean-Luc. I loved Odan." Her words were a challenge.

"In all of his or her forms?"

She blushed. And squirmed in his arms. "Not all. I guess I still have certain prejudices."

"Beverly, I would still love you just as well, regardless of your circumstances. Or choices. What is in the past is the past. It does not matter to me. What is our future, does."

He lowered himself onto his side in order to observe her more thoroughly. He marveled at the fact that she was still capable of blushing beneath his gaze.

"Even Will?"

"The Commander fancies himself as your protector."

Picard reached over and touched a panel by the side of his bed, removing something from within the compartment that slid open.

"Will even gave me some excellent advice," Picard added, lightly tracing a path of velvet pleasure over her breast, using the ruby petals of a long stemmed rose bud. What he next did with that rose, she'd remember for a lifetime.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard moved about his ready room. His movements were uncharacteristically jerky. His innate grace usually dominated, But not right now. He glanced down at his Granmere's ring, clenched in the palm of his hand. It was not yet time. He reluctantly put the ring away.

Robert had not helped matters by sending all of the jewelry to him. He now had a captain's safe full of parures, etuis and other assorted items whose functions belonged to other eras. They had antique as well as gem values, and had been listed in the family's estate appraisal inventories for centuries.

His door chirruped.

"Enter."

"You wanted me, Captain?"

Her tone was completely professional. Yet…

He stared at her for a minute before he answered, "Doctor, commanding the Enterprise has always been my aspiration."

As a doctor, she tried to analyze the situation by his words and how he said them. "You have regrets?"

"Yes. Now I am trying to rectify matters."

What the hell was he trying to tell her?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Tomorrow is your birthday."

Beverly took a deep breath, relaxing. His tenseness was not due to Starfleet matters. "Yes, I know. I'm the one who keeps track of the birthdays that I really do not care to count."

Jean-Luc cleared his throat. "Beverly…"

"Yes?" Her voice was expectant now, as if she were a child sitting before a Christmas tree with plenty of wrapped presents with her name on them, resting under the tree.

"Happy Birthday, mon coeur." He handed her an antique case covered in real silver blue silk velvet. "Whenever I saw this, I always thought of you. And how it would look…"

Beverly carefully opened up the case. Inside of it was a pin. A beautiful, antique pin with an emerald cut large deep blue sapphire surrounded by rows of seed pearls and small diamonds, set in platinum.

"Oh, Jean-Luc…" she sighed, for tears were forming.

"It can convert into a pendant as well. I seem to remember your mother's pearl necklace. It should fit."

"Yes…" She carefully touched the setting. "It should work with it."

"Would you please wear it tomorrow?"

"Uh…"

"Beverly, I do not care for surprise parties - and please remember that for future reference."

"Aye, Sir," she teased.

"So, therefore…"

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"I've arranged for a small dinner party in your honor, tomorrow night." His words came out in a rush, as if he were embarrassed by the gesture. "I've invited our senior officers, as well as all of your friends."

Beverly considered this gesture. Jean-Luc rarely arranged any social function when his duty did not require it. But he was doing this for her sake. And she was touched.

"Jean-Luc, this doesn't sound like a small party to me."

"It is. That is why I didn't invite all of your former patients, too."

"Well, if you should ever feel so inclined to do so, I'll even wear a party hat if you insist."

"I believe that I will hold you to that in the future, Beverly."

She broke several Starfleet protocols as she kissed her captain in his ready room. Rather thoroughly.

"And when your birthday comes around…"

Jean-Luc knew better than to say don't you dare…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Guinan's smile was double mysterious, especially since it was directed towards herself. Things were working out. The universe was righting itself.

And as for her Jean-Luc, he would fulfill his destiny, with, eventually, the right wife by his side. Guinan had spent decades correcting some of her former mistakes. It was about time that Picard corrected his missteps too.

Riker stepped up to the bar in Ten-Forward. He'd been observing her, wondering what was going on behind her peculiar expression.

"Guinan?"

He glanced about the lounge, noting nothing about which to be concerned.

"Nothing, Will."

His instincts told him otherwise. "You rarely refer to me as 'Will'. That alone tells me that something is going on."

"I think that I will call you 'Will' more often," was her confounding response.

"What?"

"I've always called captains by their first names. And most, at least the wise ones, have respected my advice when I've offered it. You'd better, too."

Riker was surprised and then troubled by her words. "Is something going to happen to Captain Picard?" There was an edge of concern in his voice.

"Not today, Will. I was referencing someday captains." She smiled up at him. "A word of advice, Will."

"What?"

"Revel in your time, Will Riker. It will never again be like this."

Riker already knew this, but then he considered the reasons behind why Guinan was warning him. What was her purpose?

"Time's a comin', Commander." Her smile was the prerequisite mysterious and all-knowing expression to which he had become accustomed, as she glided away. Yet, somehow it got to him, striking a warning note in his breast. Will had always respected Guinan's prognostications.

Suddenly, he guessed at what she had just revealed. He whirled about to confront her, but she was gone. And Riker realized that he hadn't a clue as to where Guinan had gone. He asked the computer where her quarters were.

He was informed that there was no Guinan listed on the ship's manifest.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

He waited, somewhat impatiently, for Beverly to join him for breakfast. He hadn't exactly issued an invitation. Oh, Beverly's birthday dinner had been successful. The food and the company had both been excellent.

Later on, when they'd returned to his quarters, after they had made love, Jean-Luc and Beverly had had a bloody row. Their first official bloody row.

The way that she'd left him, angry over his refusal to let her stay the night, troubled him greatly. For he'd said some things…

Beverly had slept the night in his bed enough times already, that she didn't think that she had to ask his permission every single time, to stay the night in his quarters.

But the captain had had an early morning sub-space conference meeting with two admirals. He usually took these calls in his quarters when they were scheduled at such inconvenient hours for him. So, he thought that he was being perfectly reasonable when he had asked her to leave.

She obviously had not found it so.

When his doorbell finally chirruped, she was already five minutes late.

"Jean-Luc," she greeted, as she entered. She was the very image of a cool professional. But she wasn't exactly friendly. Or relaxed.

"Good morning, Beverly."

She observed his uniform, his stiff posture, the freshly-made coffee, the croissants, and the strawberry jam. And she experienced a pang of regret. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd painted his body with jam.

Oh, what the hell….

She attacked her commanding officer again, kissing him with a pent-up desire that surprised even herself. Once he comprehended her intent, they raced each other to see who could get out of their uniforms the fastest. About twenty minutes later, the naked captain got out of bed, found a large tray, and carried their breakfast back to his bed. He'd had to replicate some more hot coffee.

He stood at the foot of the bed, just studying the beautiful lady who now reclined upon the messy sheets.

"It is a good thing that we've been eating breakfast an hour early for the past few weeks." He placed the breakfast tray on the foot of the bed, and then slid back under the covers, carefully avoiding any movement that might cause a spill.

She sat up, dropped her sheet, and faced him, head-on. "I was angry, okay? I do have a temper, Jean-Luc."

"I do recall Walker warning me about it years ago."

She ignored that reference. "I'm not going to pretend it doesn't exist just simply because you and I are…" she waved her hand encompassing the bed.

"Seeing each other?" he suggested.

"That's one way of putting it." She picked up her coffee mug. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. You were trying to be rational yesterday, and I was trying to be anything but that. Your decision hurt me, last night, when you told me to go."

"I had a conference call."

"And here I thought that it was because you were afraid that I'd do something inappropriate if I'd stayed in your quarters when you were talking to those admirals."

"It was more that I was afraid that you'd overhear something to which you should not be privy, Beverly. Until you gain the rank of captain, or get a substantial upgrade in your security rating, there will be times when you must leave."

"I know that." There was a naughty twinkle in her eye. "Yet I'd so been hoping during your call, to creep under your desk, out of sight, and touch you and kiss your…"

He groaned as that image suddenly flash-scalded through his brain. "I'll never be able to take a sub-space call from Admiral Nechayev ever again without thinking of you…"

She grinned as she interrupted him. "And that's why I said it."

He knew her too well. "I'm sorry if I seemed officious."

"Seemed?"

"All right. Was officious. It is part of my nature."

"Do tell."

He gave her the look. It bounced right off of her beautiful hide.

"I am accustomed to making decisions and then implementing them. However, I do concede that you were right." On her surprised look, he took a quick bite of his croissant. "I should have discussed matters with you that concern us. I did not. Instead, I dictated. For that, I do apologize."

"Why do I have the feeling that hell is freezing over," she mused.

"Was I that terrible?"

"Oh, Jean-Luc. Yes."

"I apparently was." He drank some of his café au lait. "Beverly, we are - how shall I phrase this? - two very strong personalities. We are bound to have disagreements. Perhaps, we should agree to some ground rules."

"You sound like you've been talking to Deanna."

"No. I actually have been listening to Deanna. Every once in a while, she makes sense. But don't tell her that I said that, Beverly."

"What rules did our favorite counselor suggest? Let me guess - that we discuss our feelings."

"Now, that's a given."

"Behave, Jean-Luc." She patted his arm.

He continued. "That we don't withhold things for fear of hurting the other's feelings."

Beverly quickly agreed. "If we cannot be honest with each other, what is the point of our having a relationship?"

Jean-Luc quickly glanced down at the bed.

"Behave," Beverly ordered, swatting his arm this time.

And so he did. He seriously asked, "You want what we shared when we were monitored by the KesPrytt."

"We're no longer telepaths. That won't happen again." She observed that he still seemed rather pleased with certain memories that he was suddenly recalling.

"I rather enjoyed sharing your thoughts, you know. Beverly, I learned more about you in a few days that what I had discovered in years."

"So did I. And I used my knowledge of your erotic fantasies to seduce you."

"So did I. Several times, mon coeur. I was a willing participant. And I truly did appreciate your insights. If I recollect correctly, there are a few memories that we haven't reviewed. I hope that we will do so, in the near future."

She laughed, surrendering to the ludicrous nature of their conversation. She kissed him. After a few moments, she gasped, "Jean-Luc, wasn't there one dream that held elements of a feather duster, your leather saddle, a quirt and…"

"Beverly…" Picard choked, covering it up with a mock cough. "Those weren't my dreams. My fantasy had us riding bareback."

Beverly smiled at this image. "I had one of those, too. White horse, holodeck hay stack and all." On his inquiring look, she added, "I've been in a real hay stack. That's a mistake I won't ever make again. Too many insects tried to join us. Biting insects." She wickedly did not mention the name of her partner.

She finished off her croissant, moved the breakfast tray off the bed onto the deck, and then turned her thoughts to more serious matters. "I agree to your rules when we are fighting. But, I have a few conditions."

"Of course." He surrendered, knowing it was inevitable.

"If it concerns us, you should consult me before you make a decision."

"Agreed. Unless it is a life or death matter that concerns my making a command decision."

"Are you sure that you didn't take some law classes back at the Academy?"

He shook his head in denial.

Still, he was smiling, looking rather pleased. And that was what counted with Beverly.

He finished of his croissant, and handed the empty breakfast plate to Beverly for her to place on the tray. Whether they had realized it or not, there was a comfortable familiarity about their routines now.

"Time to get dressed, I suppose. And talk to Wesley."

She watched him get dressed for she was not quite ready to get out of bed. He picked up her uniform, and her non-regulation black lace bra and panties and placed them at the foot of their bed. "I'm not sure where your socks went."

"I'll get a pair out of your drawer."

He wisely refrained from remarking about how many pairs of socks she'd borrowed over the past few weeks for he was constantly replenishing his sock drawer. For he had also discovered that Beverly had cold feet, too. Socks were a small price to pay for Beverly to have warm tootsies when she decided to stick her feet in the small of his back when they slept together.

She picked up her clothes, then went into his bathroom, washed up, put on her make-up, and then quickly dressed. For the appointed time for contacting Wesley was quickly approaching.

"Where shall we talk, Beverly. Here? Or in my ready room?" He thought for a moment. "And will it be the both of us? Or, you alone? Your decision."

She motioned at his monitor. "Here. And together. If he recognizes your quarters, so be it." She tugged him toward the screen. "What are we going to say to Wesley?"

"The truth."

She knew Jean-Luc was right though she really didn't want him to be. She moved another chair next to his desk chair and turned on the monitor. A few minutes later, she reached her son.

"Mom!" was Wesley's enthusiastic greeting. "Happy Birthday!"

"Thanks, Wes. Those heirloom seed that you sent to me are marvelous. I'll try germinating them soon. Imagine, 18th century English lavender growing on board a starship."

"Boothby got them for me. I knew how much, that is, I thought that you'd enjoy them."

Wesley sounded and looked nervous.

Picard stepped into the picture. "Hello, Wesley. I am glad that you were able to continue your friendship with Boothby."

"Yes, Sir, Captain Picard! Good to see you, Sir." He paused and then admitted, "Boothby is still my friend. I'm glad about that." He looked away, biting his lip. "Boothby is rather fond of you. He tells the most amazing stories…"

Picard cleared his throat.

"I, that is we plant things. None of my classmates…" He let his voice trail off. No one better than Picard understood the ostracization that he was undergoing at the hands of his classmates. Wesley might have been first in his class, but he was first no where else. No one talked to him without having to do so.

Beverly nudged Jean-Luc's knee.

"Know that I am your friend, Wesley. And I always will be. Remember that."

"Aye, Sir. I will."

Wesley looked at his Mom. And then back over to Captain Picard. He didn't know what else to say.

Picard knew it was time.

"Wesley, you know that I respect your mother. I also care for her, deeply."

Wesley was relieved that Picard had taken charge of their conversation.

"Mom, do you love him?" He blushed, knowing it was a stupid question to ask. "Yes, of course you do. I remember how you used to talk about him when I was a kid."

Picard filed this bit of information away for another time.

He reached over and entwined his hand with Beverly's hand.

"Wesley…"

Wesley's grin was still uneasy.

"You're to be assigned to the Enterprise when you graduate," Picard formally stated.

This information stunned Wesley for a moment. Then he drew his scattered wits about him. "Uh, that's great, Sir."

Jean-Luc responded. "No, it is not great, Cadet. You will probably wish for another assignment before I am finished with you." Picard sat down next to Beverly. "You are not returning to your home. You will instead, be assigned to a ship where every officer will view you with abject suspicion. If you think that your treatment at the Academy was harsh, wait until you see how you are dealt with on board the Enterprise."

A sober, adult man understood what his captain was saying to him and responded accordingly. "I accept your terms, Captain. Do what you have to do."

And for a brief moment, Picard empathized.

"Wesley, you will survive, tempered by this experience. And you will be a better officer for it; someone worthy of wearing the uniform." The captain then glanced over at Beverly. "We will be seeing you soon. Bon Fortune, Wesley."

Wesley indicated his approval before he said goodbye, not giving voice to all of his inner turmoil. Someday he'd tell them that he didn't belong in a Starfleet uniform. But not today.

Picard relaxed when the view screen shut off. "I'd say that your son is growing up, Madam."

She nodded and then stood up. She was about to step around her captain, when she suddenly felt his palm cupping her bottom. And then he swatted it.

And Beverly knew that no one on the ship would believe her, if she'd told them of what Captain Jean-Luc Picard had just done to her person. In uniform. She giggled to herself even as she kissed the top of his head - not bothering to wipe off her lipstick. She hoped that he'd notice that before he made it to the bridge, because if Riker caught it, her captain would never hear the end of it from his exec.

She went to her Sickbay with a lighter heart. He was loosening up, even if he did bedevil her, on occasion. She was looking forward to their night…


	11. CHANGES & CHATTINGS

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Changes and chattings

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

MONTHS LATER…

"Damn you, Jean-Luc!"

She was furious. And she didn't care if they heard her through the bulkheads. Her anger was a righteous one.

If there was anything Jean-Luc Picard disliked about Beverly Crusher, it was her tendency to be honest about every little thing.

"All I did was speak to Woody."

"And now, the admiral has invited us to dinner at Starbase 57! And you accepted for both of us before you even had a clue about my schedule!"

"And what is so terrible about that, Beverly?"

"You don't know?" She looked at him, incredulous over his denseness.

"No."

And he really didn't know.

"You were making plans without consulting me!"

"Beverly, Woody asked me to the dinner. And then Woody paused a moment, stumbled over his words, and then asked if I wished to bring a date. I've been friends with Woody Nakamura for over thirty years. This is the first time he has ever asked me if I wanted to bring a date to a dinner. I accepted." He cleared his throat. "If you do not wish to go, I will gladly make your excuses."

Beverly's worst fears were not quite realized when they went to the dinner. The 'dinner' turned out to be a banquet for a retiring Starfleet Admiral named Hurley. Neither Beverly or Jean-Luc had ever served with the man, though Jean-Luc had played poker with him once or twice.

Noticing that Beverly was engrossed in a rather spectacular dessert table, and after quietly wondering why she never seemed to gain any weight in spite of her fondness for chocolate, Jean-Luc walked over to where Woody was standing by the bar.

"Jean-Luc, how are you doing?" Woody was quite cordial as he eyed the man who could wear the scarlet body-fitting dress uniform and still look good in it. In some ways, Jean-Luc had not changed from their Academy days.

"May I speak with you privately, Woody?"

"Now?"

Picard nodded.

"Walk with me, Jean-Luc." He motioned toward the promenade outside the banquet area on SB 57.

It was a typical, modern starbase promenade, with glittering store displays, intriguing exhibits and enough quiet, secluded corners for any strolling couple - including an admiral and a starship captain - to find a place to talk without interruption.

They walked for a while, ostensibly admiring the shop displays and the efforts of local artists in the forms of sculpture to mosaic friezes. After a stretch, Picard chose a corner that seemed isolated enough for their conversation.

"Woody?"

Woody studied his old friend. As strange as it seemed, Woody thought that Jean-Luc seemed nervous. He was too stiff to be anything else.

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"If I were to ask you a hypothetical question, would you grant me a similar answer?"

Wondering what Jean-Luc wanted, Woody warily assented. "Of course, Jean-Luc."

"What if a starship captain felt that it was time for him to leave his chair? Where would he then go?"

Woody actually lost his aplomb. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. He sat down on the nearest stone bench with a thud.

Jean-Luc joined him, casually watching Woody midst the moving shadows cast by the night mode variant lighting.

Woody's voice squeaked. "Off the record - what exactly are you asking?"

"Best choice scenario. If I were to choose to leave the Enterprise…"

The twilight zone. Woody was positive that he was in the twilight zone. Jean-Luc willingly leaving the Enterprise? Woody decided to place a few bets in the intergalactic pool as soon as this party was over. Everyone had always assumed that Jean-Luc would die in the big chair for no one ever expected him to leave it willingly. Woody could make a fortune…

"Woody?" Jean-Luc was surprised at Woody's lack of response.

"Oh, Jean-Luc. You stunned me."

"That was not my intent."

"You're not kidding?" Woody was still having difficulty is believing that this conversation was real.

"No." Picard looked away from his friend for a moment. "It is time for me to change the course of my life. I wish to know what Starfleet would suggest."

Then Nakamura understood. Picard was negotiating.

"I don't expect a promotion, Woody. In fact, I would rather just like to teach. To do anything but the job of a padd-pushing bureaucrat. Our hypothetical captain would resign before he agreed to such a position."

"I believe that whatever this hypothetical captain wants, this hypothetical captain will be handed on a silver platter, with all the bells and accompanying whistles." Woody then contemplated the next obvious question and how to say it without setting his friend off. He knew that Jean-Luc did not prefer obfuscation so he forged ahead. "What about Beverly?"

Picard inwardly winced as he knew that he should have known that Woody would ask this question. "Beverly makes her own career decisions. She may very well choose to stay on the Enterprise. She does love her work, Woody. And she is damned good at it."

"I know, Jean-Luc. But rumor has it she, er, loves you too. You lucky dog."

Picard stood. A polite smile was his only response to Woody's comment. He motioned to Woody that he wished to continue their stroll.

They walked for a few minutes, past several shops until Picard stopped by a toy store. For a brief moment he felt an automatic urge to buy something for a grandchild long dead. And when he recognized what he'd felt, he had to silently acknowledge a sad longing for his past.

Woody misinterpreted Picard's actions as a bargaining move.

"All right, Jean-Luc. I'll see what I can do about offering Beverly a suitable position, as least in the same solar system as your hypothetical captain." He squarely stared at Jean-Luc. "Any other demands?"

"Actually, there is."

Woody chuckled. "I think that's why we've been friends for so many years. You make your audacious demands seem reasonable."

"Woody, the future of the Enterprise is of paramount concern to me."

Woody respected this. "So, what is it?"

"Riker."

Picard offered the name as a challenge. By the expression on Woody's face, Picard knew that this was the first, major obstacle.

Woody hesitated for a moment, then regretfully spoke, not really wanting to play the spoilsport to Picard's plans. "Jean-Luc, I don't think that I can guarantee Will Riker the captain's chair."

"I won't leave the Enterprise without that formal guarantee, Woody." Picard was intractable on this matter.

Woody understood.

"I'll see what I can arrange. But I won't promise you the sun, the moon and all the bloody stars. Riker's records has two major strikes. They stand against him. There are other officers out there with spotless, exemplary records, who deserve the chance at your captain's chair."

"So does Riker," Picard warned.

"Well, I'll see what I can negotiate."

"It's what you do best, Woody."

"You're not so bad at it yourself, Jean-Luc. The Diplomatic Corps would love to have you back - either as a civilian or as a Starfleet representative. If you choose that route, you could probably even command the Enterprise to be your choice of transport on a permanent basis."

"That wouldn't be fair to Riker." Though Picard did grin at the thought of bedeviling his Number One as an autocratic diplomat. Visions of Riker's response if he borrowed a few pages out of Lwaxana Troi's diplomatic playbook danced before his eyes…

They returned to the party. And by the look in Beverly's eyes, Picard knew that she'd understood something of what he'd just done. For he had lightly discussed some of his concerns with the lady before the dinner. Now, he didn't question that she would be coming to his quarters tonight. She would be loaded with questions. Whether or not she stayed the night was another matter. She did surprise him though. She stayed. And then picked up their recurring argument during breakfast.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Riker stepped cautiously onto the bridge and glanced hastily towards Mr. Worf, then walked over to the tactical station.

"Still feuding," Worf quietly told his commander.

"Okay." His glance darted toward the ready room door. "His mood?"

"Stoic."

"And the CMO?"

"Nurse Beck wants to speak with you later, Commander. Something about an immediate transfer to the peace and quiet of a Klingon vessel."

Commander Data joined them. "Excuse me, Commander, Lieutenant. Are you discussing the captain's private life? I believe that he would prefer that you not do so."

"Mr. Data, as Number One, it is my duty to see to the welfare of the captain."

"Has the change in the nature of the captain's relationship with Dr. Crusher effected his command? I have observed nothing obvious."

Exasperated, Will tried to explain. "Mr. Data, Beverly and Jean-Luc are my friends."

"As they are mine," Data interjected.

Worf butted in. "Mr. Data, Klingons do not permit their friends to suffer. If Captain Picard were Klingon, there would be a battle between the lovers, with furniture smashing, throbbing wounds…" He recollected himself. "When it was over, no one would know who had won. They would be lovers again. And their friends would rejoice with them."

Data was curious. "Are you suggesting that Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher engage in such physical activity?"

Riker almost laughed out loud, trying to shake the image of Klingon mating rituals from his mind. And Picard actually doing it.

"Really, Mr. Data. What we've got to do is figure out a way for them to resolve their differences; for their own good and for the morale of this ship."

Mr. Data nodded. "I believe there is an appropriate phrase for this: When Momma is not happy, then the ship is not happy."

Riker shook his head, somewhat in disbelief. The quote was not exactly correct, but the sentiment expressed was dead on. "Something like that, Mr. Data."

Mr. Worf added, "I, for one, do not want to go near Dr. Crusher for a physical, at the present time."

"Lieutenant, are you suggesting that Dr. Crusher would be less than professional in her behavior?" Data quizzed.

"Data!" Riker barked.

Data correctly interpreted the commander's tone of voice and his expression. "I am sorry, Sir." He surveyed the bridge before leaning in quite close to the commander. "Sir," he conspiratorially asked, "What can we do to help them kiss and make up?"

Data never received a reply for at this precise moment, the door to the ready room swished open.

"Trouble?" the captain of the Enterprise asked, noting three of his officers apparently conferring together.

Riker slowly straightened up. Data copied the commander's actions.

"Actually, Sir, we were just discussing crew transfers and solutions," Riker coolly stated; unruffled, with the confidence of a man telling the absolute truth.

"Is that so?" It was just an off-the-cuff remark that Picard made as he sat down on his chair.

Data quickly piped up, "Commander Riker is telling the truth, Captain. I heard him discussing Nurse Beck with Mr. Worf."

Riker inwardly groaned, though he revealed nothing of his distress to his captain. Mr. Data had a lot to learn about the human custom of gossiping about the proverbial water cooler and its etiquette.

Picard turned around in his chair and just looked at the three officers standing behind him. Worf was stiff. But then the Klingon was always stiff on duty.

Riker looked completely relaxed and innocent - that's what gave him away to Picard. When Riker had to work at projecting nonchalant innocence, the man was up to something.

And as for Mr. Data, the captain shook his head.

"Gentlemen, return to your posts." Picard's voice sounded icy calm.

Riker groaned inwardly again. The captain had subtle ways to let his Number One know of his displeasure.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Woody."

Admiral Winston Holt Wiley extended his hand toward one of his favorite fellow admirals.

"Care for some robust cabernet sauvignon? It's one of the Picard vintage bottles. For some reason, a Marie Picard sends me a couple of cases of wine every year. If it were from anyone else in Starfleet, I'd suspect that it was a bribe."

Woody accepted the Steuben wine goblet, and sat on the bronze d'ore trimmed bergere that was part of the admiral's salon suite. Winston perched on the edge of his matching armchair.

"Funny that we should be sitting here drinking Picard wine."

"How so?" Winston savored a long sip.

"Off the record?"

Wiley gave Woody a curious look, but nodded in agreement.

"A few days ago at Admiral Hurley's retirement party, Jean-Luc approached me."

"Heard the party was incredibly boring - more so than usual. They had Bolian food for the banquet too. Glad I missed it."

Woody raised an eyebrow. Since Rear Admiral Hurley and Fleet Admiral Wiley rarely said anything to each other that wasn't strictly about Starfleet business, no one had truly expected the head of Starfleet to actually attend the banquet. Rumor had it that a long time ago, both men had courted the same ensign. And that the lady had chosen Hurley.

Woody put down his goblet, leaned forward, and glanced about the flame mahogany paneled inner office located in the most prestigious of Starfleet Command's buildings.

"Jean-Luc wanted our conversation to be off the record. I agreed."

"Woody, get to the point."

Wiley didn't quite feel like listening to Woody ramble toward his goal. Brevity had never been one of Woody's strong points. Loquaciousness was an admirable trait for an admiral that specialized in public relations. But it annoyed the hell out of Wiley.

Woody chose his words carefully. "Jean-Luc would like a sea change. He wants to leave the Enterprise."

"For how long? If he wants a leave of absence, I'll grant it. Hell, if he wants to take a year off, he can have it."

"No, Holt. You misunderstood me. Jean-Luc Picard wants to leave the Enterprise. He no longer wants to be the captain of the Enterprise."

Winston Holt Wiley spilled wine on his tunic. Fortunately his dress tunic was red. So was the wine.

"What?" he sputtered. "Impossible! Jean-Luc would rather die than leave the Enterprise. He's chained to his captain's chair."

"Not any more." Woody picked up his wine, pleased that he had surprised a man who thought that he knew everything that was going on in Starfleet. And then some. "I actually think that Jean-Luc wants to marry Beverly."

Wiley mulled these words. "Picard would never be able to be a captain and then command his wife into a dangerous situation." Wiley drained his goblet. "What was her name? That astrophysicist or whatever she was?"

"Nella Darren," Woody supplied.

"I always knew you liked to gossip, Woody."

Woody only smiled at this accusation. "Just doing my duty, Admiral." But now was the time to seriously deal with the Fleet Admiral.

"All I know, Holt, is that Jean-Luc would like to find some acceptable position. And that he'd like Beverly to be assigned to a suitable, equitable post, somewhere within the same solar system. Or, if that's not possible, at least within a light year's travel time."

"Did Jean-Luc hint at what he wanted to do?"

"He said that he'd like to teach."

"Really?" Wiley's reputation as a brilliant strategist was truly worthy of the legend, as his mind's gears began to turn. "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"I'm not an idiot, Holt."

"Don't breathe a word - especially to any other admiral. I want to consider all of the ramifications of Picard's decision before it becomes public knowledge." His smile hinted at trust with a tinge of appreciation. "Was there anything else that Jean-Luc hypothetically asked?" On Woody's look, Wiley grinned, revealing a set of perfect, gleaming teeth that were the pride of several Starfleet dentists. "I've know Jean-Luc a long time too, Woody."

Woody gulped, knowing that this admiral would not be pleased. "Jean-Luc stated that he would not accept reassignment, unless he was guaranteed that Will…"

"…Riker be promoted to the captain's chair of the Enterprise." Wiley muttered a few, very choice curse words in several languages under his breath. "Damn you, Jean-Luc. I could have given you everything you wanted. But do you know whose soul I'm going to have to sell in order to get Will Riker this captaincy? Damn him."

But still, Wiley's smile remained. He relished the challenge. Making Riker captain of the Enterprise would require a great deal of skillful negotiating, clever plotting, and under-the-table wheeling-and-dealing in order to pull it off. And this was just the sort of thing that Admiral Winston Holt Wiley did best.

Jean-Luc wanted what was best for his ship. And Wiley would grant it to him, after extracting promises from the man to pay a very high price for this favor.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Deanna, isn't there something that you can do?" Riker's voice was filled with frustration at the situation. He paced across Deanna's office, needing to find a physical release for what he was feeling.

"The captain has not requested my help."

"And Beverly?"

Deanna shook her head. "Beverly won't let me get near her. She claims that she doesn't want me reading her emotions or her thoughts."

"When did you begin reading thoughts?"

"When they are as strong and as emphatic as Beverly's thoughts, I can. When she's in a 'good' mood, he's an arrogant ass. When she's irritated, he's an arrogant, obstinate ass. And when she is truly furious, the captain becomes - how does Beverly phrase it? - an 'ossified, ogiastic, yemeless but calyphrigious, witling'."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I had to look it up, Will. Beverly rather impolitely called our captain a 'bone-headed bird brain'." And Deanna silently amended, "With a great ass."

"I'd be willing to bet that Picard wouldn't have had to look it up."

"I'd never take that sucker's bet, Will." She mightily sighed. "They do seem so well suited to each other."

"So why the hell is their quarrel so bitter?"

"I don't know, Will. Beverly won't confide in me. And the captain orders me out of his sigh whenever I even hint…"

"Perhaps, you should be more persistent."

Deanna was annoyed by this judgment. "Can you tackle the captain when he'd in his consummate captain mode? I can't. He's polite. He solicitous. He nods at my words. And then he ignores everything I say."

Riker went to the replicator and ordered two hot chocolates, without even needing to ask. "You're right, Deanna. Neither one of us can approach Jean-Luc when he has donned his impenetrable captain's shield. What we need to do is concentrate on the weaker link - Beverly. Perhaps we can get through to her."

"Don't ever let Beverly know that you think that she's the weaker link, Will. She'll be angry enough to put you on a diet…"

"You think I need to go on a diet?" He handed the counselor her chocolate.

Deanna only rolled her eyes. "You already know that answer to that question, Will." Deanna sipped her chocolate. "You have a certain rapport with Beverly - especially since Odan."

Will gulped his chocolate. It went down the wrong way. After the coughing cleared, he asked, "You knew?"

Deanna only gave him her best you're such a silly boy and of course I knew glare. "You weren't in the wrong, Will. Odan loved Beverly. She loved him back." Deanna drank another sip of chocolate, then smiled benignly at her somewhat sweating Imzadi. "And you must admit, that you personally, have always been attracted to Beverly too."

Will mopped his brow.

"I'm just surprised that you didn't pursue her afterward."

"She's a friend!" Will protested.

"I see. So by your way of thinking, you only have sex with women who aren't friends?"

Riker tried looking repentant. He didn't succeed.

"That's not what I meant."

Deanna granted him mercy. She patted his beard.

"Talk to her, Will."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

The crash echoed about sickbay.

"Damn. Damn, damn, damn. DAMN!"

Nurse Alyssa Ogawa bravely stepped across the threshold to her CMO's office. "Bad tricorder?" she suggested.

Beverly looked at the broken pieces in her hand.

She glared back at Alyssa.

"Uh, very bad tricorder, Doctor?"

And suddenly, Beverly broke into fits of laughter seemingly bordering on the edge of hysteria. Eventually she calmed down with the help of Alyssa. Then she studied her best nurse who was doing her best to pretend that she hadn't been comforting her CMO a moment ago..

"How do you do it, Alyssa? Have a personal relationship and a working relationship at the same time?" Beverly hiccupped.

"Lots of vodka helps."

With this, both ladies laughed together.

"With Jean-Luc, it will take a liter, at least."

Both ladies giggled again.

Beverly admitted, "I know he means well, but he's just so…"

"Captainly?" the nurse suggested.

"Yes. That's the right word. He just can't stop being the captain even when we're in be…er, alone."

"And you can't stop being the CMO even when you're in, er, alone," Alyssa teased.

Beverly sighed. "So what do we do?" She sighed again. "We'll have to work something out. Eventually."

"Soon?" Alyssa suggested.

At Alyssa's expression, Beverly asked, "Have I been that bad?"

"Well, Nurse Beck says he is considering a transfer to a Klingon war cruiser."

"It's been that bad."

"Only for those who know you well."

Beverly embraced her favorite nurse. "If I could talk, I would." Silently she vowed that she would get Jean-Luc to understand her point of view if it was the last thing that she did. The man needed to get into his thick skull that when it came to their personal relationship, they were partners. Not necessarily equal partners all the time - but still, partners. 

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Ten-Forward was anything but a peaceful watering hole these days.

"I heard it was because Dr. Crusher was flirting with sssssome ambassador at Admiral Hurley's party," Barclay suggested.

Ro Laren interrupted. "No. It's the Captain. I heard that he drank some scotch and then made a pass at the admiral's granddaughter at the reception."

"Impossible!" Worf's forceful voice carried about the lounge. "Captain Picard would never flirt with another female while mating with Dr. Crusher. That would not be an honorable act. And Captain Picard is a man of honor."

Those seated about the table all stared at the Klingon, recognizing that Worf was as serious as he could be.

Deanna interrupted, shaking her head. "No. Picard would never flirt. And Beverly would never do anything to mortify her captain."

"Then, is it Wesley?" Data suggested, as he reviewed the known facts.

Riker turned and sharply glared at his Number Two. "Meaning?"

"Perhaps Wesley is upset over their relationship. That would be a logical source of their discord." Data spoke as always; calmly and precisely.

"No," was Geordi's opinion.

"He might be correct," Worf suggested. "There have been numerous communications between the Academy and the Enterprise over the past few weeks."

Guinan approached them, her puce robes trailing in her wake, her hat set at full sail. "Shame on all of you!" she scolded.

They all stared at her, somewhat surprised by this verbal attack.

"About what?" Riker politely asked. As if he didn't know…

"Discussing the private lives of two of the people you are supposed to call friends. They are undergoing a difficult period at the moment." She shook her head in disgust. "Shame on all of you."

"And what do you suggest that we do?" Geordi politely asked, trying to come up with a defense for their gossip. "Ignore the situation? I haven't willingly, been on the bridge for the last three days because it is much safer down in engineering. And I've never, ever, said that before. I mean, whose side do you pick? They both are our friends."

"Well, you shouldn't be talking about them like this, in what is essentially a bar." Guinan's glare was accusatory.

Finally chastened, Deanna agreed. "You're right, Guinan."

Guinan nodded. "Good." She looked shiftily about the room before she leaned closer to the group and whispered, "I actually heard that Woody Nakamura made a pass at Beverly…"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly glanced about her desk top, pleased. She'd resolved all reports, cleared away a stack of padds, and hadn't yelled at any of her staff during the past eight hours. All in all, it had been a good duty shift.

Her office door chirruped.

"Come."

"Beverly, are you busy?" Will Riker stood in the doorway, bestowing upon her his best, most charming I'm a rogue and I know that you love it smile. He stepped inside. "Have a minute?"

Wary of his smile and intentions, yet unable to resist the man, she pointed at the chair by her desk. "What can I do for you, Will?"

"May I be frank?"

Beverly nodded her head, agreeable but cautious of his intent.

"What the hell is the problem between you and Jean-Luc?" Riker was blunt. "It's upsetting the ship - hell, it's even upsetting me!" He paused as he watched her eyes narrow. "Barclay's begun stuttering again. You've even rattled Data so much that he's questioning his own deductions."

"We've been professional!" she protested, not quite believing everything that Will was saying.

"Yes, you have - on a rudimentary level. It's what you've been doing when it isn't professional that's the problem."

"Our private life is none of your damned business, Will Riker!"

"I disagree."

Beverly harrumphed in response.

"Beverly, the welfare of this ship's captain and its CMO are of primary concern to every individual on board this ship. Especially to me." His friendly smile changed into the expression of a stubborn man, determined to have his way and make a point.

Beverly sadly shook her head. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, Will." She touched his hand.

"So talk, Beverly. If not to me - then to Jean-Luc. If you need a shoulder, Beverly, I'm your friend. I always will be that." He opened his fingers and held her hand.

Beverly understood that Will was only being a concerned friend. But considering what Picard had told her about Nakamura's opinion of the future of Riker's career, she was worried more about his being eventually hurt, than over his concern about the captain.

"Will, I thank you for the offer of your very broad shoulders. But this is between Jean-Luc and myself. It's about basic fundamental differences between us that we must resolve. And if we don't come to an understanding, soon, then I'll go on without him." She raised an eyebrow. "And no, you won't have to choose between us. Regardless of whatever happens, I will always be your friend. Besides, Jean-Luc wouldn't force our mutual friends to choose sides." She let go of his hand.

"How very civilized of you. Why is it that I don't really quite believe you?"

And with that, he left.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Captain," Worf loudly stated.

The captain looked up from his padd.

"There is an incoming subspace message for you from Starfleet Command. Admiral Winston Holt Wiley."

The bridge fell silent.

The captain stood and nodded. "I will take it in my ready room. Secure the channel." He glanced over at Will who was doing his best not to appear nosy. "Number One, you have the bridge." With that, he left.

Geordi approached Will and spoke in a low tone of voice. "Sir, it's the captain…"

Watching as the door slid close, Will asked, "What?"

"His physical response when he heard it was Admiral Wiley." Geordi motioned toward the closed ready room doors. "He didn't look it, but boy, the captain was jumpy. Nervous. Heart rate rapidly accelerated. His blood pressure rose. Any ideas as to why?"

"I haven't a clue about a lot of things, lately, Geordi. He's not been behaving…"

"…like the captain," Geordi agreed.

Inside of the ready room, the object of their discussion got a cup of tea, then paused for a moment before he gathered up enough courage to sit behind his desk. He picked up his quartz shard and tapped his finger against the sharp end, pricking his forefinger as if to remind himself that this was what he had wanted.

Options.

And then he turned on his view screen.

"Jean-Luc." Wiley was most convivial.

"Holt. It is good to see you looking so well, Sir." Jean-Luc sounded as stiff as he felt.

Wiley broadly smiled. "Shall we cut out the polite crap, Jean-Luc?"

"Of course."

Picard still did not unbend.

"Why do you want out?"

"I don't. Not really. That is not my true intent, Holt. But being a starship captain will no longer suffice." Picard cleared his throat. "Therefore, other alternatives must be explored." He spoke as if he had mentally rehearsed every word several times.

Wiley suggested, "If I permit you to inquire about other options, Jean-Luc, I promise you that Admiral Nechayev will want Eddie Jellico for your captain's chair."

Wiley then paused, making his point, patiently waiting for Picard to respond.

Finally acknowledging his words, Picard spoke his own truth. "Holt, I would personally have no objection to Captain Jellico. He's an excellent officer. But, his appointment to the Enterprise could cause personnel problems." Picard paused to precisely choose his words. "Years ago, you gave me permission to pick my own crew. It was with the purpose that they would suit my ways - not someone whose style of command is disparate to mine. A good many of the senior officers on board this ship would request transfers and then need to be replaced before Captain Jellico would have the measure of loyalty that I now command."

Wiley nodded. "Understood."

Wiley said nothing for a while, letting Picard contemplate the Fleet Admiral's possible solutions.

Finally Wiley spoke, as if he had just made up his mind.

Picard knew better.

"You'll be indebted to me, Jean-Luc. Is that understood? The price you will owe me will be steeper than a Rura Penthe mountain."

Owing Winston Holt Wiley any favor was an expensive proposition. But Picard readily consented.

"Accepted, Holt. And the deal is, Admiral?"

"For the past few months, Admiral Brand has been looking for a replacement for superintendent of Starfleet Academy."

Wiley observed Picard's reaction to this information. As Holt suspected, Picard did not react as any mere mortal Starfleet captain would.

"How nice for Admiral Brand," Picard commented as coolly as if he'd just heard his ten-thousandth daily status report.

Wiley continued, slightly annoyed by Picard's posture. He respected officers with gumption, but by the same token, he disliked being the recipient of their independence.

"She wants to retire and play with her great-grandchildren. But she won't give up her post until she finds the best person to take her job." He paused to see if Jean-Luc would care to make a statement.

Jean-Luc just sipped his tea. He could be as unrelenting as any admiral, if needs be.

"I casually mentioned your name to her, Jean-Luc. Then waited until she mopped up all the coffee that she spilled because I had mentioned your name to her." Wiley grinned, relishing the memory. "She's readily agreed to your taking over the position, any day and any time that you wish it."

"I had only thought about teaching."

"You've been offered this post before, Jean-Luc ." Wiley's teeth clenched. "This time, if you go through with everything, you will not be allowed to turn the position down. But, if you wish, you could teach a class every now and then. Nothing quite like putting the fear of a commanding admiral's bars into a freshman class. I've done it myself many a time." Wiley grinned at these memories for a moment before he remembered the business at hand. "Accept this post, Captain Picard. Understood?"

"Then shall we say that I come to the Academy at the start of the second semester?" Picard suggested, his voice now sounding slightly deferential, conceding this level of their unspoken game to the Admiral. He knew he wouldn't care for Holt's second offer, whatever it was.

Wiley was startled by Picard's too-easy surrender. Now, he was suspicious but couldn't give voice to the possibility that it was Picard who had been manipulating him. "Ah, the second semester. Now that would give you and Beverly time for an extended honeymoon."

Picard stifled his irritation at the admiral's presumptiveness. "Actually, Holt, I will be accepting this position even if Dr. Crusher does not wish to leave the Enterprise." Picard did not need to explain everything to this nosy man.

Wiley took a sip of his drink, judged Picard's words and then smiled his best I'm the Fleet Admiral so humor me smile. "Well, ask, Jean-Luc. Why do I have to keep reminding you to do so?"

"Perhaps it is because I do not wish to second guess my superior officer."

"Pah! Picard! You and your damnable pride. You need humbling!"

For an instant, Wiley saw the pain in Picard's soul reflected in his stare as the captain remembered bitter days from the past.

"The Borg did that…" Picard quietly stated.

For a brief moment, Wiley regretted his unfortunate choice of words. But then like many of his predecessors before him, he didn't explain or apologize. "You'll be promoted to admiral," Wiley spelled out in not quite a regretful tone of voice.

Picard slightly nodded, knowing Wiley well enough to recognize that this was the closest that Wiley would ever come to an apology.

"All right, Holt. Who will become the next captain of the Enterprise if I choose to leave?"

"Who do you think, Jean-Luc?" Holt countered.

Picard barely controlled the immediate irritated retort that had almost crossed over his lips. This man could be perverse. "I think, Admiral Winston Holt Wiley, that you were successful in your endeavors. You got what you wanted - and what I requested."

Wiley smiled.

Picard silently added, "You always do."

Wiley gave in a little. "William Thomas Riker will become the new captain of the Enterprise. However, you will have to tell Alynna. I will be incommunicado for that conversation."

Wiley's smile was nasty at the thought of Nechayev's coming confrontation with Picard.

"Agreed."

Picard did not openly reveal his distaste for such an upcoming encounter. But he did feel relieved. He did not doubt that getting the captain's chair for Riker had been a major political challenge for Wiley.

Wiley stared at his favorite starship captain for a moment, and dropped his personal shields. "It's not that simple, Jean-Luc. In order to wield power, you have to have power. Beverly will need power too."

Picard assimilated this statement without any obvious reaction. He guessed, "Beverly - an admiral? In what post? Provided, of course, that she chooses to leave as well."

Wiley shook his head admiring Picard' deductive skills. "So you're not that certain that she will leave with you. Ah, women and their fickleness." He correctly interpreted Jean-Luc's sudden, remote glare. "She's assuming a powerful position, if she accepts it. I'm offering her the post of CMO, Starfleet."

"Her former position?"

"Quite a few doctors remember her, Jean-Luc. Unfortunately, some will resent her return. I made a big mistake that last time not promoting her then. And I've danced on more than a few ambitious egos to offer her this posting, Jean-Luc. Remember that." He smiled, as if he just recalled something. "If Red would rather head her own research department, she can have that too."

Jean-Luc withheld the opinion that he'd be reminded of all that he'd owe Holt, forever until the day he died.

As an afterthought, Admiral Winston Holt Wiley added, "By the way, you will have the admiral's option."

Surprised at this beneficence, Picard nodded in acceptance, pleased with this unexpected favor. And then Holt's choice of words were comprehended.

"When will the changes take place?"

"You tell me, Jean-Luc. I'm dancing to your tune, this time. Tell me when you're ready to leave. Wiley out."

The transmission ended.

And Picard sat there, in the lowered lighting, pondering just what he should do and how he should do it. Gazing upon infinity always gave him comfort. And he needed it as he contemplated his future choices. He would have to become an admiral too.

Exactly an hour later, his door chirped.

Will entered. He noted the lowered lighting, the unlit terminal, an undisturbed cup of probably cold tea, and his captain's contemplative, almost meditative position by the star portal. His captain look weary. And Will was worried, but he hid his concern behind his usual, jocund smile.

"Captain, here are the revised personnel postings."

Riker placed the padd on the desk as he surreptitiously studied his captain again, for a clue to the man's mood.

"Anything I can do for you, Sir? You're been in here quite a while."

"No, Number One. Thank you." Picard stood and straightened out his tunic. In answer to Riker's questioning look, he whispered, "I've been here long enough."

"Anything I should know, Sir?" Riker didn't understand his captain's choice of words.

"Nothing about which you should worry, Number One." Picard stepped toward the bridge. "I believe that we have a nebula to chart?"

Picard strode onto his bridge with his first officer trailing in his wake.

Will caught up with his captain. "Any orders, Sir?"

"Carry on, for now."

A few hours later, Jean-Luc Picard walked into sickbay and entered Beverly's office as if he needed no invitation.

Without preamble, he announced to the surprised lady sitting behind her desk, "I have heard from Admiral Wiley."

She looked up at him, drinking in the sight of him even though she was still trying to maintain her resolve to be furious with him.

"I told Wiley that I would not ask you to give up your commission in order for you to stay on board my ship. Did I assume correctly?"

She nodded, somewhat taken back by his statement.

What was Jean-Luc babbling about?

"I take it that the admiral offered something?"

"Head of Starfleet Medical."

"I take it that this offer is meant for me." For a second she thought that he would smile.

He continued. "I got the distinct impression that if you wished to concentrate on research, you could also name your own department and projects, too."

"And you?" She took a deep breath and waited.

"Superintendent of Starfleet Academy."

"Oh my," she let slip.

"We both will be promoted to the rank of Rear Admiral."

"What?" This news astounded her.

"Wiley didn't think that his chief medical officer should be a captain or only a mere commodore. Once you accept, you will hold the transitional rank of captain. Wiley is then going to arrange the paperwork promotions to explain your rank advancement."

She sighed, troubled by what he had just revealed. "Please leave, Jean-Luc. I've got to think about what you've just said." For she suddenly, really understood that Jean-Luc would rather give up his starship than let her resign her commission and leave Starfleet…He wasn't going to ask that of her…

"Beverly."

He disturbed her.

"What?"

"Marry me."

She wasn't conscious of the gasp that she made. All she could focus on were his words - those devastating, splendid words. Words that she had prayed to one day hear and yet had feared to hear in the very center of her heart. Words that could break her heart…

He hid his nervousness by looking about Beverly's small office with all of its ordinary mundane features plus a few hearty, healthy plants. He was in danger of misinterpreting her silence.

"I realize that this proposal is more practical than romantic but I do wish for you to consider your position - our positions."

Her expression still held a somewhat dazed quality as she listened to his words.

He felt a sudden desperation, deciding to gamble on a more powerful argument. "Beverly, if you are going to contemplate matters between us, then consider this…"

He didn't care if any of the medical staff walked in on them. He had a point to demonstrate and, mon Dieu, he was going to make it. Now was not the time to be a captain. Jean-Luc Picard was a man in love, battling for a future with his beloved.

He pulled her into his arms, capturing her close and gave her the most heart-pounding, pulse-racing, arousing kiss he could. It was the kind of kiss that took romantic fiction writers many pages to describe.

The next kiss was even better.

Ardent lips coaxed an answering response from Beverly. The days of their anger-enforced abstinence disappeared into a firing of the senses that was absolutely overwhelming for both of them.

When she needed to gasp for air, he finally let her go - just a little. He rolled off of her a bit. It was then that she realized that she was lying on her back on top of her desk. Everything on the desk was now on the floor in order to accommodate their passionate embracing. She hadn't noticed when she'd ended up in this position. Or how her tunic had come open - to the waist.

She fumbled into her chair, befuddled, bemused, breathless; warily watching him as he moved a few feet away from her and straightened out his uniform. And she found herself resenting the fact that he could kiss her until her toes curled, yet he could appear to be in complete control of his emotions while she was still sitting there raggedly gasping for breath.

"I love you, Beverly."

His declaration of love did not help matters any.

"I sort of figured."

"Then know this: I am accepting the Academy Superintendent position. I will go with or without you. I think you know that I would prefer it if you came with me. I need you, Beverly."

He pivoted and walked out of sickbay, leaving behind a Beverly stunned by the force of his words and actions.

Around the corner, Nurse Ogawa gazed on in shock, then glanced over at her companion witness, Nurse Beck. In silent agreement, they stepped back into the other offices, both deciding to hold their tongues.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Guinan shoved the glass forward.

"Drink," she ordered.

Beverly suspiciously looked at it and then leaned over to sniff it. "What is it?"

"Cabernet. Château Picard, of course."

"Of course." She frowned at this bit of information. "Damn you, Guinan."

"Don't take your frustrations out on me, Red." Guinan rarely used that particular nickname for Beverly. It harkened back to Stargazer times.

Beverly picked up the goblet and drained it.

"So what are you going to do?"

"You're not going to give me advice about how to handle Captain Picard in my hour of indignation? I have a right to be angry!"

"Agreed. I know why you're angry with the man. But what about the captain? What are you going to do about both of them?"

"Guinan, the man is the captain. I don't want him to change because of me. But what he's decided to do is almost too dramatic a transformation. I can't be responsible for that…"

"Some might call this maxim a cliché…"

Beverly cut Guinan off. "But you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

Guinan walked around the bar in Ten-Forward, and placed her arm on Beverly's shoulders and gave Beverly her patented universal mother's there-there now hug.

"Beverly, change is inescapable. It's time for Jean-Luc to choose another path. And to leave the Enterprise. It's going to happen with or without you. The only thing that you have to decide is if you're going with him or staying here. Only you can judge if it is your time too."

Guinan nodded as a couple entered the lounge. With the flick of a hat, she sent them away from the bar, leaving Beverly undisturbed.

Guinan leaned very close to Beverly and whispered, "Honey, in case you hadn't noticed, it's your time now. Finally. Go get him, Red. Bed him and wed him."

Guinan then filled up Beverly's wine glass. She noticed that the doctor was sort of sitting there, stunned into silence. "I've got customers," she announced as she stepped away from the woman who was contemplating her future.

Thirty minutes later, Guinan returned to Beverly, who really hadn't moved. "I know that you don't want my opinion, Red. You never do. To some, I'm just a barkeep."

Beverly reacted to this blatant, judgmental challenge. "Oh really, Guinan? Being just a barkeep has never stopped you from giving advice. And at times, I have been appreciative of your wisdom. So dispense."

"Well, since you're twisting my arm, here it is. Again. Marry the man."

Beverly slightly smiled, distracted as Guinan's aubergine hat seemed to waddle like a Wao penguin from her jerky head movements.

"You were never just a barkeep to Jean-Luc."

"Figured that out, have you?" Guinan whispered to herself. "No, being just a barkeep is one of the few things that I've never been to Jean-Luc." Guinan adjusted her hat so that it could ripple more readily. "I'm Jean-Luc's personal imp. Just in case you were really wondering about the nature of our relationship."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He frequently curses my name."

Beverly snorted. "He does that to me too."

Guinan nodded. "Nothing quite like Jean-Luc in a captainly snit, is there?"

Both ladies chuckled together.

"Beverly, you're trying to distract me from giving you advice."

"Never."

"Face it, honey. You two were always meant to be. Fate just got in the way." On Beverly's warning look, she added, "Nothing wrong with that, now is there? You ended up with a Wesley. And a fine son he is too."

"Meaning?"

Guinan leaved forward. Her voice was breathy as she spoke with the experience gleaned from a thousand former conspiracies. "It will be a lot less wearing on you in the long run if you give in now. Remember, Jean-Luc has the stamina and the determination of a marathon runner. And you've been his ultimate goal for a very long time."

"And you? What will you do if he gets me?"

"Oh, I'll always be around, Beverly. What else would I do with this lifetime?" She shrugged and went back to wiping glasses as if she were now finished with the dispensing of advice.

Beverly finished off her cabernet. "I don't really want to leave the Enterprise."

"Do you think that he really wants to leave his captain's chair? It was custom-made for him. It's been too- comfortable a fit for him for a long time now. There was a time when he'd rather have died that contemplated finding another chair to sit in." She inspected an already clean glass and gave it another swipe with her cloth. "But, Jean-Luc has changed. Eline altered his perspective." She eyed Beverly with a laser bright beam of speculation. "He did tell you about Eline, didn't he?"

"I know that he loved her."

"But did he tell you how and when…" Guinan mused to herself. "Before Eline, this ship was his number one priority. Now, it's having a wife and maybe even a family. He needs you as much as he once needed to sit in the captain's chair of this ship. Unfortunately, because Jean-Luc is the man that he is, he cannot have both. At least, not on board the Enterprise." Guinan arched a hairless eyebrow. "That is, you won't resign and solve his problem for him, will you?"

Beverly shook her head. "He hasn't even asked me."

"And he won't. So, go with him Beverly, or tell him goodbye. He'll eventually find someone else if he has to. He's a man now willing to make a commitment to a woman. And that will attract lots of willing women - like Jamaharon on Risa."

"Pour me another glass."

Guinan did so, as well as one for herself.

"You're sharing this wine with the wrong person, Red."

"Really?" Beverly's smile was warm as she clinked her glass against Guinan's rim.

"You really should try to get Jean-Luc drunk. The man can be a lot of fun when he's out of control."

Guinan smiled her best, omnipotent smile.

"Damn you, Guinan," Beverly moaned. Her fanciful imagining of Jean-Luc no longer in control of himself was quite tempting.

"You know I'm right, Beverly Crusher."

"Well, I will grant that you're one of the sanest, wisest people on board this ship."

"Flattery, huh?"

Beverly nodded.

"What you really want is for me to spill my guts out about Jean-Luc, eh?"

"I don't want you to betray any confidences…"

"Sure, you do." Guinan's grin bordered on the sinful. "You wouldn't be half the woman I think you are if you weren't dying to know all about Jean-Luc Picard in his salad days." She saw the question on Beverly's visage. "And don't believe every word that Jack ever told you. I knew Jean-Luc long before he'd ever met Jack."

Beverly reached over, picked up the bottle and refilled Guinan's glass. "If you need more wine, I know the code to Jean-Luc's wine safe. So… Spill…"


	12. ALWAYS...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly makes up her mind.

CHAPTER 12: Always…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Dammit, yes!" she yelled at the walls, throwing her empty wine glass down, storming and stomping about the confines of her quarters. Orchids quivered as she walked by. She had reached her decision. "Crusher to Picard," she ordered, slapping her comm badge.

"Yes, Doctor?" Jean-Luc Picard tried to sound unconcerned by her sudden call.

"Meet me in Holodeck Three in thirty minutes - as Dixon Hill. Crusher out." She didn't give him a chance to say 'no'.

Wondering precisely what it was that he was facing, Picard donned his suit and trench coat, double checking the pleat to his pants, and the knot to his maroon tie. And then he went in search of Beverly.

He warily entered Dixon's offices, looking about.

"Messages?" he inquired of his frizzy bleached blond secretary as she was putting the finishing touches to her manicure.

Madeline snapped her gum.

"Gotta go, Dix. Gotta a steam-heat date." Madeline arched her penciled-in half-moon eyebrow. "So do you."

He tossed his hat over at the free-standing hat rack, but missed. "Meaning?" he asked, as he bent over and retrieved his hat.

"Meet your doll at the Plaza. ASAP. Presidential suite."

Madeline winked at Dix, adjusted her cloche hat, and then left in a trail of cigarette smoke.

Picard pretended to thumb through his mail, but saw nothing obvious pertaining to Beverly's whereabouts or her intentions. So he consulted a phone book and located the Plaza.

Then he ordered, "Computer. Freeze program. Identify 'A. S. A. P.'."

The computer voice soothingly droned, "With haste. Expeditiously. Speedily."

"Enough. Resume program." He reached for his hat, adjusted the fedora's brim to a jaunty angle, and then ambled off for the hotel, contemplating Beverly and all of the possibilities a hotel room might bring.

Picard entered the fancy marble and crystal lobby, and inquired at the main desk for directions to the Presidential Suite. Ignoring the elevator operator's too-knowing grin, he rode in the elevator up to the suite.

He found only the Presidential Suite when he stepped off of the elevator. And the door to the suite was open. Bravely he stepped across the doorjamb.

The setting was lavish. Totally tasteless. Decorated by someone trying to give the impression of boom town moolah - lots of it. The room beyond had a golden wall of marbleized mirrors with an abundance of perfumed candles reflecting against it. He sniffed. The air was redolent with bayberry and lavender and something else. At least Beverly had the good sense not to choose whatever perfumes were typical to this period.

And then he saw her.

She was perched on the edge of a dark burgundy velvet settee across from another mirrored wall. She was wearing some sort of silly black hat with a half-veil of twinkling netting covering her eyes.

She was a vision wearing a hostess gown in glistening, long black satin. A wide collar with a plunging décolletage was colored a bright pink as it highlighted some of her assets of which he was very fond. The robe also had matching pink winged cuffs. One gorgeous gam was crossed over the other from under the part to the robe. He thought he glimpsed a pink garter on her upper thigh to her never-ending legs. She was also wearing impossibly high pink satin high heels.

Beverly was a vision. And she literally took his breath away. And part of him realized that Beverly must have remembered her first trip here with Dixon Hill. He was touched.

But the only thing that he could clearly behold were her lips - pouty passion red lacquered lips. Transfixed, he watched her tongue slowly lick them.

Languorously, she lifted up her arms to raise her hat's diamante netting up over her eyes.

"Forgive my disguise, Mr. Hill," she cooed, "but with all of those reporters bird-dogging my heels, a girl just had to do something!"

He took a step closer, even as he tried to force himself to breathe normally.

"And you are?"

"Lola…"

She limply extended her fingers toward him.

"Lola Simone… Lady Rutherford..." Her voice was breathy. Beverly was having trouble getting the hang of speaking with ellipses.

He clasped her hand, turned its palm upward and breathed deeply of the perfume on her scented wrist; his senses swimming from the smell of it and her essences. This perfume was not her usual choice. She'd added some sort of spicy undertone. It was deep, heady and stimulating. Very stimulating. He approved.

Remembering the role he was supposed to be playing, he bowed, pressing his lips again, against her palm; a recidivistic gesture akin to the continental courtiers who were numbered amongst his ancestors.

"Enchante."

He reluctantly released her wrist and slowly straightened up. "Dixon Hill at your service. What's the problem, Lady Rutherford? Or do you prefer Dollface?"

Beverly choked down a giggle. "It's the press! They're hounding me with every step I take in this 'burb!"

"Why?" Even though he sounded like Dixon Hill, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

"They say I murdered my husband!"

"Tch. Tch. Nasty habit to get in to."

"Just because he was forty-two years older than me and accidentally fell off of that slippery ole mountain top, only hours after we were legally wed… Well, can a girl help it if she is now a wealthy widow, can she?"

"Of course not."

She adjusted the belt to her robe.

Dixon didn't think that it would be possible, but now more of her bust line was revealed as the satin parted some more.

Picard smiled in spite of his jaded Dixon Hill persona. He had known that Beverly had a dramatic flair. It's just that it had never been deliberately directed toward him before. And Jean-Luc was pleased. Very pleased. The least her efforts demanded was that he play along before he permitted her to seduce him.

"Listen, Dollface, I've heard about you. Wasn't this hubby number three?"

Lola sobbed - or was it a hiccupped?

"I loved my husbands!" She threw a slanted glance at him, as she slithered off the sofa, her skirt riding up higher so that glimpses of pink hinted a way to paradise.

Jean-Luc, or rather Dixon Hill's gaze froze at the casual glimpse of silk stockings and pink garters peeping through.

Beverly cleared her throat as she adjusted her skirt.

Picard followed her every move.

When she cleared her throat again, he was reminded on his role.

"I bet you say that to all of your husbands."

For a moment, Beverly broke character.

Picard thought that he heard her lips promise, "I will…"

She resumed her character. She sashayed over to Dixon. Exhibiting a sensuality that she'd seldom revealed to anyone, she gazed into his eyes as she stroked a feathery path with her forefinger, down his nose.

A trace of fire trailed from her touch.

Then, almost tickling, she traced his upper lip. Then his lower lip. She was the one who shivered though, when he nipped the pad of her forefinger in passing.

At this point, he was ready to surrender; flag rising. But Beverly didn't want that just yet.

She stepped back even as she leaned forward a bit, just to make sure that he noticed her heaving breasts barely swathed in the pink silk and black satin.

He had already observed that promising view. But he made no comment.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what, Dollface?"

She presented him with a sparse little smile, playing about red lips that promised oh so much passion. It was however, not a nice smile.

"You know what I am talking about, Dix, old buddy, ole poker playing pal of my late, somewhat lamented husband. He sent you a letter. Where is it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dollface."

"Wrong answer, Handsome. I've searched your office. Your flat. So, I'll ask you one more time - where is it?"

"I told you, I don't have it!"

He wondered about the direction that Beverly's little game was going.

"Wrong answer again, Handsome." Beverly slid her hand down the side of her hostess gown, slowly slipping it underneath the opening, and stroking even further down her inner thigh.

His eyes shadowed every movement of the progression of her fingers. When her fingers slipped beneath the folds, his eyes widened in surprise.

But Beverly was full of lots of surprises this night. Her fingers reappeared. And now they were holding a small revolver.

A quick glance at her lover's face told her that she had been successful in surprising him.

"What?" This time it was his turn to gasp. For she'd used the muzzle of the gun to knock the fedora off of his head.

"If it's not in your office or that two-bit flea-flat you call a place to flop…"

Picard interrupted her. "Wrong slang for the period - Dollface."

She waved the gun directly under his nose.

"Whatever." She touched the tip of the barrel to his nose. "Like I said, I've searched every possible place for the…"

He kissed her briefly, but it was enough to befuddle her for a second.

"Letter?" he helpfully suggested.

"Right. Letter." She pushed him a wee bit away from her face. "You're what's left."

"What?" He didn't follow her reasoning at first. "Left for what?"

"For me to search you. Strip."

"Oh." It took him a moment, but then the idea began to grow on him. He remembered that he was still supposed to be Dixon Hill.

"And if I don't?" he gruffly asked.

"I'll torture you until you beg for mercy," she pleasantly promised.

The way he looked told her that he liked the sound of this idea too. But when he spoke, he spoke as Dixon. "No other choices, Dollface?"

Beverly sidled up to him, pressing then sliding her body against him. She still kept her gun pointed at her nose, almost as if it were a barrier to keep him from kissing her again, until she was ready to be kissed.

"Well, I've heard tell that a husband can't testify against his wife. Spousal privilege, or some such nonsense."

He pulled her even closer. Kissed her. Batted away the gun. And tossed away her hat.

"I like the sound of your nonsense."

With this, he picked her up and carried her back to the sofa, carefully placing her on her side. In spite of the color, the silk velvet fabric felt very sensuous as he shoved Beverly back against the cushions. He crushed her to him.

And she let him do it, even though she was still holding her weapon.

"Put the gun down, Beverly."

She pulled the trigger and hit him with a stream of cold water. She laughed as droplets dribbled down his nose.

"Beverly," he warned, desire waging a battle with his sense of humor. Not since his academy days had he been the target of a squirt gun.

"Strip!" she ordered.

Passion won. Though he silently promised to get his revenge later - much later.

He kissed her. Their lips parted, tongues hungrily searching for the caresses that they'd not shared for what had seemed like eons.

The squirt gun dropped onto a pink Persian carpet. As if on cue, the fire in the fireplace lit up. And the room darkened.

Neither lover really noticed. For Picard stripped. And then he was separating her gown, seeking her heat. Later on, he would appreciate her silk stockings when he'd eventually remove them. But, not right now.

"Like a moth to a flame…" he murmured underneath his breath.

She heard him. "Meaning?"

"You're incandescent, Lola… I can't ever resist you."

That was the million latinum answer, by Beverly's standards.

Worf stood frozen by the inside door to the holodeck as he watched the view screens of the interior to the holodeck.

He had stopped in his search for his captain when he had seen the silhouette of Picard being held at gunpoint. But he had wisely waited long enough to ascertain the identity of the person foolish enough to threaten his captain, before he'd jumped in to do battle. Now, he was glad that he had decided to practice a little of his hard-learned human caution. Disrupting his cha'Dich, much less the man who was his captain, during a mating dance was not a wise course of action - or a good career move. He also suspected that Dr. Crusher would be an unforgiving woman under such circumstances. She was one opponent he never wished to confront.

With a brief, satisfied smile crossing his lips, Worf posted a guard outside the holodeck and gave him specific orders about who might be permitted to enter. No one below the rank of captain would be approved entry to this particular holodeck. And as a precaution, Worf also ordered a privacy lock - something that his cha'Dich had neglected to do. Glory-filled passion could do that to a warrior. Worf still smiled as he went toward Ten-Forward to add to his bet in the 'make up' betting pool.

Comm badges were where they belonged, tonight.

Worf was in such a good mood that he even allowed some of his subordinates a few minor infractions to which he did not exact the maximum discipline.

Meanwhile, passion-filled minutes passed as the lovers reaffirmed their ardor, not noticing the Klingon's efforts in their search for bliss.

Picard was quite adamant in his demands, not granting Beverly any latitude. Somewhere beneath his highly honed exterior of a starship captain, skillfully polished façade of a politician and a diplomat, and experienced, consummate skill of a French lover was a passionate man. Yet he was also an angry man.

He was angry with himself and even angrier with Beverly for his reacting to their situation as if he were an ordinary mortal. He was not the man that he thought himself to be. And that man had yet to reconcile all of his feelings with his self-image in spite of his deep love for the woman now moaning in his arms.

For Jean-Luc Picard knew of the snickering behind his back, of senior bridge officers betting if he would be late for his next duty watch, of the wagers as to what had exactly caused the rift between Beverly and himself in the first place (as if he really knew!), and even of Commander LaForge hibernating in engineering, avoiding his path whenever possible. He knew all of this and he hated knowing that he had caused it. Almost as much as he hated to admit that it was his own damnable, stupid pride that had brought about this situation in the first place.

He'd lived his adult life as a Starfleet officer, and had been a starship captain twice during a total of thirty-six years. He'd already had a reasonably full life. And Kataan had even given him a differing, miraculous point of view.

Yet now it was time for a change. He would ask nothing of Beverly Howard Crusher except to love him enough. He could not order her either as a man or as a captain. She had to come to him with a willing heart, or it was all for naught.

For Jean-Luc Picard had known real, true love once before - and he would accept nothing less now.

Beverly snuggled against her beloved's chest, quite content with her current, comfy position. The steady beat of his heart harmonized with the pulsations of her own. It was a moment out of the space time continuum; a flawless creation of a memory that would last within her heart, forever.

"You know, you still haven't answered my question," Beverly commented as she spanned her fingers lightly across his chest. She wasn't exactly seeking to arouse him, but there would be no complaints on her part if she succeeded in doing so. Besides, she liked touching him.

"And what question was that, Beverly?"

His hands were questing too, lightly exploring her soft contours, seeking beneath what little clothing she still had on. He was methodically easing her out of what was left, saving her stockings and high heels for the very last.

"Will you marry me?"

Her voice was quiet, sincere, and hesitant. She knew that she'd thought of nothing else but marriage since his proposal. And she assumed that he'd been thinking about it too. Over-thinking it was more likely. Just like she'd been doing.

His hands stopped their explorations.

"So that is what this is all about."

Beverly raised her head, looking at him almost nose-to-nose, her long hair brushing against him as silken fire to tickle him.

"That's not an acceptable answer to my question."

"I stand, er recline, corrected."

"My love?"

"What, mon coeur?"

"Jean-Luc, if you ask it of me, I will resign my Starfleet commission. We can stay on board the Enterprise, if you wish."

He kissed her brow somewhat surprised and then overwhelmed by her offer. "Merci, mon coeur. I will not ask. Your rank would change, but the situation would not."

And then he smiled, a smile of pure joy and enjoyment. His anger dissipated. He had made his mind up about a few important matters days ago. Now, with her offer, his heart was accepting the rest. It was time to leave his doubts behind him.

"You just had to show me a more memorable way to propose to you, didn't you? Well, Beverly Howard Crusher soon to become Picard, I do accept your proposal. Willingly. Gladly." And he punctuated every word with little kisses.

She found herself chuckling just with the sheer joy of it. Of them.

"And I accept your proposal. Willingly. Gladly."

His little kisses began to scorch.

He rolled her over, gathering her close as he slid down her body to land on the plush carpet.

"Marry me, my love?" he asked again, on bended knee. This time, he was declaring his love by almost touching her with his lips and his fingers.

Sitting up, she opened every corner of her heart to him. "Yes, I will marry you, Jean-Luc Picard."

As a reward, he took his time removing her stockings.

And they were lost in space, together.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Riker was in a much better mood than he had been during the past few days, as he surreptitiously studied the hands on the poker table. He was playing his favorite game, with some of his favorite people, in his quarters.

Barclay started the last round of cards by dealing a hand of seven card stud, nothing wild.

Will's poker playing smile grew even larger. The twinkle in his eye was now affixed for the duration of this hand. For he'd been dealt face up two aces and two nines. It was his type of poker hand, indeed. Of course, what was in his hold wasn't bad either. Riker truly didn't know which position he enjoyed more - bluffing or holding an ace high full house.

"There's still a guard on duty?" he casually asked of his tactical officer, sitting to his left at the table. The other players next to Worf in the circle included Deanna, Geordi, Data and then Barclay.

"Yes, Commander. At the start of the Gamma shift," Worf gruffly answered in what could almost be described as a cheerful tone of voice for a Klingon.

"That makes two shifts. Excellent." Riker's grin broadened.

Worf actually broke into a grin as the hand progressed. He knew that Riker would assume it was because of what the commander thought was going on inside of holodeck number three. What Riker didn't know was that the captain had secretly ordered his security officer to transport himself and Dr. Crusher to her quarters, and not to tell a soul.

"Men!" Deanna commented as she folded. She didn't need her empathic abilities to know that the men seated about the table were far too smug thinking about what their captain might be doing. "You can't even pretend to behave yourselves!"

Will looked at Worf with a totally bewildered glance. He really didn't have a clue.

Meanwhile, Data neatly shoved eighty chips into the pot, conferred on Riker his version of a poker smile, and politely stated, "I raise you fifty, Commander." He could observe that the commander was ignoring him. "Commander?"

Riker turned away from staring at Deanna. He glanced at the remaining face up cards on the table. Everyone else had folded during this last round of betting. He considered Mr. Data's poker smile, saw that the android only had a pair of threes showing, and decided that the would-be man was practicing his Wesley Crusher bluffing technique. He raised his bid by fifty more chips.

Data thought for a nanosecond, matched the commander's raise and stated, "I call, Commander."

Riker's smile broadened as he displayed his full house, aces high.

"Interesting, Commander. I had judged that you were bluffing with only two pair."

"Well, Mr. Data, did I beat you?" Riker asked as he started to reach for the kitty.

Data performed a reasonable facsimile of Commander Riker's winning grin, and flipped over two more threes.

"Damn! Four of a kind," Riker groaned as he cheerfully shoved the chips toward Data. "You're getting to be too good a poker player. I thought that you were bluffing - badly." He then took the deck of cards from Barclay and started shuffling.

As Data watched his friend shuffle, he was wondering about something so he politely asked, "Commander, I am curious about one thing."

"Shoot, Data."

By now, Data had learned not to take everything that Commander Riker said, literally. So he continued on with his verbal inquiry.

"Commander, I have never heard Captain Picard speak about your sexual peccadilloes, comment upon your virility, or discuss the length of time you've spent in coitus, as you do of him. Is this typical behavior of a captain's officers? I have no recall of such discussions anywhere else where I have served."

An unladylike sound burbled forth from Deanna though her voice was censorious as she responded, "Do answer the man, Commander. I'm most interested in hearing your rationale for your immature behavior." She was still laughing even as someone tried spiking her ankle under the table.

Data resumed his interrogation. "Is not such a discussion considered impolite?"

Will sighed. By Deanna's you'd better answer him, you swine glare, he knew that he'd get no aid from her. He wearily groaned again.

"Data…"


	13. THE TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGIN'...

CHAPTER 13: The Times They are a Changin'…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Captain Jean-Luc Picard entered his bridge and assumed his captain's chair. "Mr. Data," he commanded.

"Yes, Sir?" was the prompt reply.

"Mr. Data, please inform me when this shift reaches 1200 hours, Federation Standard Time."

"Of course, Sir." Data paused, "Any specific reason, Captain?"

"Starfleet business."

"Of course, Sir."

Several hours later, after some star charting had been concluded, Mr. Data announced, "Captain, we are approaching 1200 hours in sixty seconds."

"Thank you, Mr. Data." The captain mentally counted out ninety seconds before he stood, stepping away from his chair.

"Number One."

Riker glanced about the bridge from the tactical station where he'd been checking reports with Mr. Worf. He was surprised by the grave tone to Captain Picard's voice.

"Yes, Sir?"

"I am rather disappointed in you." Displeasure colored the captain's words.

Surprised by this public, verbal censure, Riker quickly glanced over at Worf.

Worf shrugged not knowing what, if anything, was wrong.

"Sir! Have I don't something?" Riker was trying not to appear overly concerned. But it was unlike Captain Picard to denounce an officer in public.

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You are out of uniform, Number One."

Riker didn't know whether to be relieved or upset by his captain's statement. He glanced down at his uniform and then at the other officers standing about the bridge. They were all dressed like him. "What should I be wearing, Sir? Has Starfleet changed our uniforms again? Why wasn't I informed?"

Picard shook his head, with a slight smile escaping as he continued to chastise. "Ah, Number One…" Picard reached up and removed a shiny pip from his collar. He tossed it to Will.

Will caught it.

"Congratulations, Captain Riker. On your behalf, I have accepted a captain's chair for you as of 1200 hours tomorrow."

Stunned, trying to control his rising anger, Riker suddenly felt very uncomfortable over Captain Picard's actions. "Perhaps we should discuss this in your ready room, Sir."

"You cannot turn this promotion down, Will. I won't permit it."

Riker still motioned toward the ready room door. "Sir."

"I prefer to remain on the bridge," was Jean-Luc's reply.

"With all due respect, Sir, I do not."

"Don't you even want to know the name of your ship before you choose to lambaste me in private?" Picard coolly asked.

This halted Will Riker in his tracks.

"Sir?"

"Your new command, Will. It's the Enterprise."

'What?"

"The Enterprise is now yours, Captain."

Beverly and Guinan silently entered, catching the stunned emotions still echoing about the bridge. They stood behind Counselor Troi who was trying her best not to let her tears fall.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Number One. Captain."

Will just had the horrible thought that this would be the last time William Thomas Riker would ever automatically be called Number One by Jean-Luc Picard.

"What, Sir?"

"This, we will discuss in private." He stepped over to his former ready room door.

"Sir?" Everyone on the bridge waited expectantly. Riker continued, "What's going on, Sir?"

Deciding to speak now, rather than let the rumors grow rampant, Picard glanced at his fiancee, caught her imperceptible nod, and then answered his XO. "At the start of the new year, I will become the new Superintendent of Starfleet Academy. Dr. Crusher is also leaving with me, to become head of Starfleet Medical at the same time."

"Merde," Will whispered.

"Congratulations, Admiral." Data looked over at Beverly and observed the change of her status. "Captain."

"Actually, Dr. Crusher will become an admiral by tomorrow too." His grin was full of pride over Beverly, before he added, "As of 1200 hours today, I have been granted the admiral's privilege." Picard spoke as he removed the remaining pips from his collar.

He then handed Mr. Worf a padd.

"This is the list of the Starfleet personnel I wish to see today, and the schedule." He paused and added, pleased to be able to say it, "Including you, Lieutenant Commander Worf." He handed Mr. Worf a pip. "It's overdue, Commander. Congratulations."

"Sir, I…" The Klingon was speechless. "I will always honor the blood oath that is between us, Admiral Picard." He said the latter with great pride. And relish.

Picard turned toward Will. "Please review my list, Captain. If there are names that you wish to add or remove, feel free to do so. You, much better than I, know the names of those that deserve promotions."

Picard walked over to Geordi LaForge and handed him a pip. "Commander," was all that Picard stated, pleased to be able to say it.

Stunned, Geordi put the pip to his collar.

Then Picard walked over to the helm.

"Lieutenant Ro," he stated, with more than a touch of satisfaction, handing her his last pip.

"This is legitimate?" she asked, truly startled. She'd always considered herself one step away from the brig rather than one step nearer to promotion. "Does Starfleet really know that you're doing this?"

Picard nodded, recognizing why Ro Laren was skeptical. "My admiral's privilege. And choice. You've earned it, Lieutenant, Senior Grade."

And Ro grinned wickedly, as she applied the pip to her scarlet piped black collar.

Picard went to Commander Data. "Mr. Data, I would like to promote you, but if I do, that would cause your transfer from the Enterprise. And I rather think that you are very much needed here as Captain Riker's Number One. However, if you wish a promotion, I will grant it."

Data looked over at Will Riker. "Sir, do you wish for me to be your First Officer?"

"It's impossible for me to consider anyone else. Of course, Mr. Data." Will then glanced over at Geordi to see if Geordi had any objections.

"Don't look at me, Captain. I am only an engineer." Under his breath he mumbled and added, "And I want it to stay that way."

"I decline the promotion, Admiral Picard." Data paused for a moment. "Admiral. I must become accustomed to using that title, Sir."

"I suppose that I must be accustomed to using it as well, Commander." Picard nodded toward the ready room door. "Your ready room, Captain?"

Riker shook his head in bemused turmoil as he entered the room in silence, mentally reviewing the rapidity of recent events.

Once inside of the room Riker immediately turned on his commanding officer. "Why the hell didn't you tell me what was going on?" He had thought that his relationship with Jean-Luc had included trust and mutual respect.

Picard ignored the anger behind Will's words. "Will, you have my permission to call me Jean-Luc."

"How kind of you, Jean-Luc, but that is not an answer to my question."

Picard sat down in front of the desk that he used to call his own, and motioned for Will to take the captain's chair behind it. Will hesitated, then sat in what was now truly his captain's chair, for the first time. Concerned about his commanding officer, the pride he should have felt at such a propitious moment was missing. He was far more worried about his former captain than he was about occupying the captain's chair.

"I wasn't certain that I was going to accept the offer from Starfleet, Will. That's why I didn't tell you. A great deal of my decision rested on what Beverly would decide to do. Someday, you may very well make that same choice, Will. But don't copy all of my mistakes," Picard added.

Picard knew that Will was upset by his decisions. Before, Riker had been the best First Officer in the fleet. And his subordinate. But now, Riker's concern and anger were genuine. Founded in emotion. Founded in friendship.

"You made mistakes? I don't believe that, Jean-Luc." Will spoke sarcastically, as if using an acerbic tongue could cut away some of his sense of loss and helplessness.

But Jean-Luc was completely serious. He understood what he had done to his friend. And he regretted that there was so little time left for discourse between them. There was so much he needed to say to Will about his ship, Starfleet, life and everything else.

"Will, a bit of personal advice. Love someone. Don't believe that isolation will make you a better captain. I've had to learn that particular lesson with considerable difficulty."

Picard stood as he watched his friend try to comprehend his words. And then he went into his washroom, returning with a champagne bottle - the '37 - and two flutes.

"A captain needs a confidant, Will."

Riker didn't completely accept or completely comprehend Picard's advice.

Picard sensed that he had intruded as much as he should into Will's private life for the moment, and changed the subject to something more inane.

"Will you keep the fish? Mr. Worf gave him to me at the start of our voyage."

Riker struggled to pull himself together. "What?"

"Worf's rather fond of Winston Livingstone. I'll take him if you don't want him, but I think that Winston really is a starfish, or rather, a starship fish. I've noticed he seems to like swimming near the portal. Besides, you can eat him, if it becomes necessary."

"What did you say, Jean-Luc?" Riker wasn't quite sure that he'd heard the man correctly.

Picard didn't quite explain. "Worf."

"Of course he can stay." A trace of anger still filtered through Riker's spoken words. "How could you make this decision without consulting me? I didn't want to get the Enterprise like this!"

"You would have preferred that it be over my dead body?"

For a second, Riker was shocked by Picard's words. But then he laughed. "Of course not, Jean-Luc." He bestowed a blazing grin on Picard. "I wanted to get my captain's chair the old fashioned way - through bribery, deceit and plain old Machiavellian double dealing." Then Riker became more serious. "You really should have at least consulted me about what you were planning to do, Sir."

"It was not your concern, Will. I needed to know exactly how the Admiralty would respond. Ever since the Borg, I've not exactly been the golden captain of choice, at the top of the "A" list at Starfleet Command."

"What?"

Picard stood and walked over to his favorite viewing portal. "Will, when I first approached the Admiralty about a transfer…"

"Wait a second!" Will yelled. "You're doing this voluntarily? You wanted to leave?" He couldn't believe what he'd just said aloud.

"I love Beverly. And I want to marry her. Others might be able to be captains and then order their families into dangerous situations. I cannot. I also could not ask Beverly to resign her commission. The only alternative was for me to no longer be her commanding officer."

Picard poured the champagne into the champagne flutes.

"Wives? Families? Will tried not to sound too incredulous. But such words were unfamiliar to him when it came to hearing them being discussed by Jean-Luc Picard. "Surely you could have worked something out?"

"If I had loved a civilian, it might have been possible. But, it is Beverly that I love. Starfleet officer and all."

"There was no other way?

"No."

For a moment, Will thought about Jean-Luc's words. Then he spoke what he felt. "I still think that it is too soon for you to go, Jean-Luc. You haven't disclosed all of your secrets to me."

"There are some matters, Will Riker, that a captain should learn on his own. You are ready for this, Will." Picard handed him the shimmering liquid gold in the flute. "I have a favor to ask of you, Will…"

"Anything, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly and I wish to be married. I cannot think of any other captain that I'd prefer to say the words of the sacred rite. Besides, we want to be married on board the Enterprise."

Riker gulped, trying not to appear totally witless. "Of course, Jean-Luc," he croaked, clearing his throat.

Pigs did fly. He was witness.

"When?"

"Soon. Before we leave the ship." Picard shook his head, oddly commenting, "Love is peculiar, Will. I love Beverly beyond life itself. Yet, I never really thought I would ever admit to it out loud. You have no idea how much stood between us. Still does, actually." He looked at Will and studied him. "For most of my adult life, I have loved Beverly. I would have gladly given up my life in order to save hers. But to give up my ship? Up until recently that thought would have been inconceivable."

"What changed?"

"One day I realized that I needed to love her. And maybe even have a family."

"Jean-Luc, I must admit that I really don't see you as a family man playing with little children rumpussing about."

"Progeny is only part of it. It is not egoistic of me to desire a family. I've decided that I want one." He paused, and then added, "So do you, Will."

"Sir, have you really discussed all of this with Beverly?"

"Some of it. Especially where it concerns you." Picard's smile bordered on the mischievous as he added, "You've had more options than the average male ever has had. Besides, Deanna deserves a captain and not a lieutenant."

"Deanna does not prefer me."

"Now, why would I think otherwise? Resolve the issue, one way or the other, for both of your sakes. I would have left without Beverly, if matters between us had turned out differently. It is time for me to go. And it is time for you to be captain."

"Jean-Luc…"

"What, Will?" He handed Will his flute.

And Will recognized how rare this moment was.

"This is really what you want to do, Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, Will." He glanced at the wine. "The last of my brother's champagne, Will." The Admiral held up his flute, ignoring the fact that they both were technically still on duty. Then he walked over to the star portal and looked beyond. Will joined him.

"To the Enterprise," Jean-Luc Picard toasted, disguising his courage behind his genuine pleasure at being able to fulfill Will's dream.

Their glasses clinked.

"The Enterprise," Riker agreed, the weight of his command suddenly settling down upon him. This was really happening.

Riker drank his toast.

And so did Picard drink, remembering, regretting, ruefully recognizing his position - and gratefully acknowledging the life he had been privileged to lead.

"This was the champagne I drank that first time, Will. When I first learned that I was captain of the Enterprise."

"That must have been something. Please, tell me about it, Jean-Luc."

And Jean-Luc did.

Then the time came to refill the glasses. And Riker did so, announcing, "To Beverly."

"Of course. To Beverly."

This time both men drank in unison. And for a while, they just stood there listening to the sounds of the ship as she passed by the stars. Each in harmony with the other, in mutual companionship. For when it came to their love and understanding of the Enterprise, they were in perfect accord.

When they finished this glass of champagne, Picard steeled himself for the unpleasant task ahead of him. He hated dissemination, and politics. But no one rose above the rank of Lt. Commander in Starfleet without encountering both.

He returned to the chair by the foreign side of his old desk. "Will…"

Riker recognized the significance of that tone of voice, as he went to sit in his new chair. "What are you trying to tell me, Jean-Luc?" He intuited a possible source of Jean-Luc's concern. "How bad was it with the Admiralty?"

Picard glanced about the ready room that was no longer his. Already it was beginning to feel alien to him.

"The Admiralty. I've no desire to impose upon you an obligation, but one does exist. They were formidable in their bargaining."

"Meaning?" Riker resented the idea that his friend had been forced to undergo so much for him.

"You were not the captain of choice to replace me. Far from it. Several different admirals wanted Jellico. I objected. I…" He paused, pouring then drinking some more champagne. "…almost lost this battle, Will. Wiley supported me, though I am not sure that I can fathom or trust the reasons behind his assistance." He stared at the new captain. "Will, I gambled to guarantee that you get this chair. You may not care to know the names and number of voices that were raised up against you, Will."

"I think that I'd better learn those names, Jean-Luc. I'd like to know who didn't want me as captain of the Enterprise."

Picard nodded, conceding this point.

"Captain, I'll make up a list of those that you should know about."

Will understood what Picard was intimating.

"I can imagine how Admiral Nechayev voted. The least she wanted to do to me was have me court-martialed after the Pegasus incident. I think that she even wished the Enterprise had a yardarm so she could string me up from it."

"Will, there are others who would have assisted her. You have already made two major mistakes with your career. You were lucky that you received only a severe reprimand, both times. In the normal course of events, this would have been enough to keep you from ever being offered any captain's chair, much less the Enterprise. I pulled in every marker that was owed to me in order to make you captain of the Enterprise." Picard savored some more champagne. "It was only because Admiral Wiley believed in my utter conviction that you were the right man for the job that you received this command. It was my conviction, however - Not his." He stopped being officious. "Please don't disprove my judgment, Will. You cannot imagine how insufferable that would make Holt."

"Well, we wouldn't want that. Thank you, Jean-Luc." Will Riker's voice was filled with quiet respect for this man amongst men. "I promise you that I will do my best."

"I know you will, Will. That's all that I ask."

"And the admirals - they'll be watching and waiting for me to make a mistake, won't they?" Riker sadly realized.

"Will, they are always watching and waiting for any captain to err."

Picard picked up his rear admiral's rank bars from the desk top and put them on his collar where his pips used to be. "And now, I am one of the damned."

"At least, you're a good friend to this lady."

Picard's laugh was laced with a strong dose of irony. "Don't be too sure about that, Will. You do anything to hurt the Enterprise, and you'll see how 'good' I can be then."

Riker stood and smiled. "Well then, wait until you see what I'm going to plan for your bachelor party."

"Will," Picard warned, dreading the possibility of a party being planned by Will Riker. He recollected other parties planned by Will, including one where Worf once wore a Klingon version of a party hat and Guinan had served Klingon tea. Jean-Luc Picard shuddered.

"Don't worry, Jean-Luc, your bachelor party will be as dignified as I can make it."

"That is what is troublesome to me, Will."

Riker's grin was gigantic as he left the ready room.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Wesley?"

The space cadet looked at his view screen.

"Mom?" He then noticed the bars on her collar. And choked on his tea. "You're an admiral?"

"Yes, Wes. Rear-Admiral Beverly Crusher at your service. And I'm also the new CMO of Starfleet."

"Wes," Picard spoke, stepping into the viewer's picture too.

"You're an admiral, too?"

Picard nodded, his rank bars dimly glinting in the low lighting of his quarters.

"Wesley, I've asked your mother to marry me. And she had done me the inestimable honor of agreeing to do so."

Picard smiled.

Beverly smiled.

And for a few seconds, their idiotic gazes locked as affianced couples were wont to do; they were lost in the stars together. It took the two of them a few moments before they realized that they were no longer looking at Wes. They broke away from each other's gaze and returned to stare at the view screen.

"Something tells me that you're getting married real soon," Wesley idly commented, amused that his mother and her former captain, could behave like goony love birds.

Picard's cheerful laughter was Wesley's answer. "I'm looking forward to having you as a son, Wes. It's time that we formalize a relationship that began years ago when I made the major mistake of letting a mere child onto my bridge. Big mistake, that." But his humor was still in good evidence as he spoke.

Admiral Picard's comm badge chirped.

Worf's voice announced, "Admiral Picard to the bridge."

Picard reluctantly stood, kissing Beverly's forehead before leaving her to talk alone with her son.

"I'm glad about this. Especially for your sake, Mom."

And Beverly could see that her son truly was happy about her engagement.

"Wesley, I'd like to give Jean-Luc a very special wedding present. Will you help me?"

Wesley nodded, suddenly realizing to his horror that he'd have to come up with the perfect wedding gift for him mom and Jean-Luc Picard too.

"Sure, Mom."

It was worth a try. "What do you want as a wedding present, Mom? I mean, what do you need?"

"You. At our wedding, Wes." And then Beverly explained what she wanted her son to do for her.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Admiral Nechayev," Picard cordially greeted, staring into the ready-room's screen.

Her steely gaze immediately focused in on the change of rank to Picard's collar. And then she understood why Admiral Winston Holt Wiley had almost ordered her to call former Captain Picard. Wiley was playing his little games again.

"Congratulations," she mumbled through gritted teeth. Then she had a new thought. "Let me guess the identity of the Enterprise's new captain." She spat out, "Riker! I will not forget this, Jean-Luc Picard."

"Correct, Admiral," Picard calmly confirmed. "May Captain William Thomas Riker serve you with the same dedication, fervor, intelligence and adherence to his duty, as he has served me."

And then Jean-Luc Picard had the unsettling thought that now that he was a rear admiral, his rank equaled that of Alynna Nechayev's rank even though she had seniority over him. He watched Alynna's expression as he began to suspect that she'd just realized that fact too.

"Message understood, Admiral Picard."

For he had just silently declared himself to be Will Riker's protector.

And then Alynna Nechayev surprised him. She started laughing. After a few seconds, Picard joined her, though he thought that his laughter sounded awkward.

"You have got to hand it to Holt. He does know how to set people up," she chuckled.

"Tell me about it. I've been dancing to his tune for decades."

"Yes. We all have. I remember how you became captain of the Enterprise. That was one of Holt's best games."

"I was not a willing player, then."

"Of course, you were, Jean-Luc. You wanted the captain's chair, so you played Holt's game. It's what we all must do - until Holt retires, or the gods refuse his admittance to heaven."

"I think that we have little recourse, Admiral."

"Oh, call me Alynna, Jean-Luc. Once I talk to Holt and tell him how pleased I am that you are now an admiral, I'd better be using your first name as well."

Picard thought for a moment. "Ah yes, Holt will be confounded if you don't go into a tirade about all of this."

"Perhaps he will even think that we conspired together," she suggested.

"Then you'd better mention how thrilled you are over Beverly becoming CMO of Starfleet medical."

Nechayev groaned. "Let me guess. She's an admiral, too."

"Yes."

"Holt's thorough. I'll grant him that." Alynna thought for a moment. "Something tells me that you're getting married."

"Yes."

When he said nothing more, Alynna added, "Well, the price of my cooperation is an invitation to your wedding, Jean-Luc. We'll have to be the best of friends when Holt shows up."

Picard thought for a moment, too. And chuckled. "I think I have found something additional to look forward to when I join the admiralty. Confounding Holt."

Alynna chuckled too. "I sincerely do mean my congratulations, Jean-Luc. Especially for you and Beverly. She may be one of the most annoying doctors in Starfleet, but she is a good woman. Though what she did wrong to deserve you... Nechayev, out."

For a while he sat there contemplating the changes of his life. Learning to cope with admirals was one of the jobs of being a captain. It was Riker's turn now. Will would just have to learn how to charm them.

Picard looked about his ready room, with new eyes, studying the play of light and planes of shadows. All of it seemed so familiar, and yet now was so foreign.

Then he walked over towards Livingstone and muttered to the fish, "We've had ourselves quite a time of it… I was never forced to eat you, and that, in and of itself, was fortunate news for you." He shook his head, feeling some regret. "The Enterprise is quite a lady. And I shall truly miss being her captain with my every breath for the rest of my life."

He fed Livingstone for the last time. "I'll have to give Mr. Data your feeding schedule if he does not already have it. Somehow, I think that Will is more comfortable eating fish that he is feeding fish. Must be his Alaskan heritage. Ah well, at least you survived." He smiled at this conceit. "Actually, we both did."

He wandered about the room, touching randomly the things that he had collected over the years, bearing the weight of his remembrances.

Merde.

He was leaving. He was actually leaving the Enterprise. This was his last night as her true captain…

A long time later, he slowly walked every deck of the ship, nodding to the various officers, civilians and crew members who were still up.

Down in engineering, newly-promoted Lt. Barclay, senior grade, stopped the admiral.

"Thank you, Sir. And especially for your pip. I know that I really don't deserve it…"

Picard interrupted Broccoli. "Mr. Barclay, are you questioning my judgment?"

"Oh, nnnnnnooooo, Sir! I didn't mean…"

Picard continued speaking knowing it was the best way to deal with Mr. Barclay. "I will miss working with you, and your particularly inventive imagination."

Barclay stuttered his gratitude. "It's been a privilege Admiral. Serving with you, I, uh, mean."

"The privilege has been mine, Mr. Barclay. I will remember you." And Picard's smile indicated that he really meant it.

Barclay was unaccustomed to such treatment from captains. His expression showed it.

"Take care of this ship for me, Mr. Barclay. And keep an eye on Geordi. Remind him, every one in a while, that he is not the only engineer in the Federation. He can take time off and the ship won't crash. You can tell him that I ordered you to do it."

"I will, Sir. I will. Good luck, Sir… I mean, you and Dr. Crusher… I mean, I was always rather fond of Dr. Beverly…"

"I had noticed, Mr. Barclay. Even when I was not personally involved with Dr. Beverly, I always paid attention to my rivals." On the man's very reddened response, Picard added, "I could not fault you for your good taste. And I thank you, Mr. Barclay." With this, the admiral moved on, leaving a rather speechless Mr. Barclay in his wake.

Picard roamed through the civilian decks, the labs, the nurseries and onward until he reached the observation lounge. In many ways, this was still his favorite room in the ship. He stood there in the dark, silently watching the stars go by, then turning to gaze at the models of the many Enterprises that had gone before him, still marveling that they had ever even survived. And then he listened to the hum of a well-run ship. When his heart was ready to say farewell, he went to the last place left on the ship that he had yet to visit.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard walked into Ten-Forward.

For a moment, complete silence fell when he entered. He stood in the doorway, studying the room and its people.

Will Riker stood and stepped forward, away from the table that he'd been sharing with Deanna, Geordi, Ro and Worf.

"Jean-Luc."

The room remained silent as Will shook his former captain's hand.

"Buy you a drink, Jean-Luc?" Will asked, with a lightness of heart in spite of the sadness he felt as well. Will had waited a long time to say those words.

And the admiral did that which the former captain of the Enterprise never would do or could do - he sat down with his officers and had a drink.

Guinan came over, carrying a tray with champagne and glasses.

Picard poured the champagne, and became distracted when Guinan joined them. "Join us," he offered, after the fact.

"Good year."

She challenged Picard to say something.

"I thought that there weren't any bottles left," Picard countered.

"You probably drank them all." On his icy rebuff, she added, "Oh, don't worry, Johnny. There are a few bottles left for your wedding reception. Which reminds me - 1400 hours, tomorrow. You and Beverly. Here." She raised a hairless eyebrow to emphasize her intent. "And don't even think of not showing up or even being late. And if there is a red alert, well, you've now got your very own captain to take care of that. So don't be late. Otherwise, I promise you dancing Shiralean naked dervishes entertaining during your wedding. I'll ask Lwaxana Troi to say the first toast at your wedding. Imagine how much fun that will be…"

"You've made your point, Guinan. However memorable a wedding that would make, it is not what Beverly and I would wish."

"No, Jean-Luc. Being an admiral is now your job. Planning a wedding, even if it is akin to a military exercise, is mine. And for your wedding, I am your fleet admiral. And you're going into battle with my plan."

Worf choked, and he had yet to sip his champagne. He shook his head in amazement. To think that he had once wondered whether or not Jean-Luc Picard was worthy of being a Klingon's commanding officer. He was in the presence of a man who would one day walk in greatness with Kahless at Sto-Vo-Kor. For it was not every day that a man's ex-mistress planned her lover's wedding.

Guinan guessed Worf's thoughts as she stared right at the Klingon to make sure that he was all right. "Something to add, Mr. Worf?" Guinan guilelessly asked.

The Klingon stood and ceremoniously boomed, "A toast!" He raised his glass. "To Admiral Picard." For Worf did admire some human customs.

"Thank you, Mr. Worf." Picard stood and glanced at his line officers and then about the room, for by this time, everyone in the room had been given a glass of champagne. He raised his flute. "To the Enterprise - and the best crew in Starfleet! It has been a privilege."

"To the Enterprise!" the room chorused.

Worf drank and then continued the traditional toasting. He announced, "The very first words I ever said to Jean-Luc Picard was: You did not go down with your ship."

The crowd hushed, shocked by Worf's statement.

"I did not think that I could honorably serve under such a man's command. I was wrong." He looked directly at Picard. "You have shown me that there are many definitions to the word duty. And under your command, I have learned honor as well. I am yours to command. Forever. My blood oath."

Only a few understood the importance of Worf's public statement. Worf had just committed his loyalty to Picard forever.

And Picard was overwhelmed by Worf's vow. Its implications were many.

"Thank you, Commander Worf."

"Admiral Picard," Riker jovially announced. "To Captain Picard! A truly legendary captain."

"To Picard," echoed about the lounge.

Geordi raised his glass. "To Jean-Luc and Beverly! Congratulations!"

Finally, everyone was drinking their champagne. Riker forestalled Picard. "Did you know that Château Picard champagne was the wine that was used to launch the Enterprise?"

"Really," Guinan drawled. "Do tell." She looked away from Will and sent her former captain a knowing look.

And for a brief moment, Riker had an inkling about a certain relationship that Guinan might have once had with his commanding officer. He glanced over at Worf, speculating. Based upon the way the Klingon was reacting, Riker perceived some confirmation of his suspicion.

He drank his champagne. "Very familiar," he added, staring at Picard and then deliberately turned his gaze to Guinan. Picard did not appear to be disconcerted for a moment.

"Admiral," Deanna intervened, "This is very good champagne. You must be quite proud of your family's traditions."

"Yes, I am. Would that I could convince my brother of that fact." He abruptly placed his empty glass down. "Who knows? Perhaps, when I retire, I'll become a simple vintner."

"Jean-Luc."

Picard froze, and did not rise up from his seat. "Yes, Will?"

"Tonight's our poker night. Please come?"

And Picard knew that he was finally being offered the chance that Riker had always wanted - to challenge this legendary status as a cardshark. Riker wanted to see if the fleet rumors were true.

"If you have room for me, I'll be there." And with that, he left, leaving a stunned group of officers behind.

"The times, they are a changin'…" Guinan chortled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! I promise!


	14. PAR-TAY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Well, I just had to write about the bachelor and bachelorette parties, now didn't I? One of them is very naughty, but in a non-graphic sort of way. Most of it I left up to one's imagination.

CHAPTER 14: PAR-TAY!

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Woody Nakamura accepted the sub-space hail.

"Wesley Crusher! What a pleasant surprise."

"My Mom asked me to call... She needs a favor."

"Anything for the beauteous Beverly."

"My Mom and Admiral Picard - they're getting married."

He grinned as he watched the admiral drop his coffee cup. Fortunately the cup was almost empty. Woody only got a few stains on his tunic.

"And I need to be allowed to fly a space craft in order to get to the ceremony on time. And also to bring Admiral Picard's family to the wedding. Will you grant me permission?"

"Only if I can join you. When is the wedding going to be?"

"Starbase 42. In four days."

"Go grab my Admiral's yacht, the Gordie Dickson. It's parked at the Academy. I'll authorize your flying it. Then I'll meet you at SB 42. And I'll even straighten out your flying privileges with Admiral Brand."

Wesley smiled, delighted with the thought that this was going so well. Not to mention the fact that he could now legally fly again, if only for a few days. "Fantastic. Thanks, Admiral." There were times when being in Starfleet wasn't completely depressing.

A few hours later, Wesley landed the yacht directly by the front entrance to Château Picard.

The commotion was enough to cause all to come running. For Wesley had landed close enough to the building rattle some of the centuries-old slate roof tiles.

"Wow!" was Rene's comment, recognizing the piloting skills involved in such a landing. He looked at the yacht with awe.

"Merde! Who the devil are you?" was Robert's response to the landing in his front yard. He was most decidedly annoyed.

"Wesley Crusher," the cadet cheerfully stated, extending his hand. Robert reluctantly shook it. "Go pack. You're invited to a wedding and I'm your chauffeur."

Marie cheerfully laughed, immediately understanding who the young man was, and why he was there. "He finally did it. He proposed. Jean-Luc is marrying Beverly!"

"You knew about my mom and Jean-Luc?" Wesley asked, somewhat surprised, for he'd known next to nothing about the captain's family other than what his mother had revealed to him.

"I've years of correspondence concerning your mother. I knew that she was always the one that Jean-Luc loved, years ago."

Wesley grinned, beginning to like the lady. "I think I know why my Mom said that Captain Picard is so fond of you, Madam Picard."

"Well, I' don't," Robert grumped. "Who's going to tend to my vines?"

Wesley jerked his head back toward two passengers stepping out of the space yacht. "Fellow cadets whose areas of specialty is agriculture. You give them their instructions, and they'll do it. And the only payment they'll ask is a bottle or two. They want to study and analyze at the feet of a master."

Wesley's words provided proof that he had studied diplomacy at the feet of the best of them.

Marie patted Robert's cheek. "Look at it this way, Robert. From now until the day you die, you can always remind Jean-Luc that you had the decency to attend your only brother's wedding," she softly mentioned.

This was sufficient blackmail/persuasion to convince Robert. "Come, Rene, we're going to visit your uncle. Go and pack."

Rene gleefully complied.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Captain, that is, Mr. Riker…"

Worf was unsure about the grey area of current command. Picard was an admiral, but Riker would not officially be in charge until tomorrow.

"What is it, Mr. Worf?"

"You're being hailed by Starfleet. Your ready room?" Worf was having a difficult time with this transition. Klingons tended to deal more easily with promotion by death than they did with bureaucratic advancements.

Riker nodded. And moved into the ready room that still held Picard's things. Riker momentarily thought about having everything packed up, and then decided that this was a duty that belonged solely to Jean-Luc.

"On screen," he ordered. He was pleasantly surprised by the appearance of Captain Kate Pulaski.

"Kate! Great to see you!"

"I ran into Wesley, interrogated him within a centimeter of his life and learned that you will shortly be needing a CMO. When do you want me?"

Riker had always admired Kate's forthright manner, even when it was used against him.

"What makes you think that I want you, Captain?"

"You're no idiot, in spite of what many do say. And only an idiot would turn me down." She patted the pips on her collar. "Only window dressing, Will. I will always be a doctor first and foremost. I'll obey your orders., though,…"

"…when you agree with them." Riker gave her one of her favorite grins. For Riker knew what Kate would do regardless of her official rank. She always went her own way. He also liked the idea of Kate returning. So, he'd lay down the ground rules when she showed up.

"What about Starfleet Command?"

"I told them where I wanted to be posted. They always give me what I want, Will. You know that."

"They wouldn't dare do otherwise, Kate. Rendezvous with the Enterprise when you can. We'll negotiate the terms of your return, then."

"Kyle and I will see you at SB 42. Oh, and Captain Riker - gee, I like the sound of that - you already know the terms of my return. Your slavish devotion. Pulaski out."

Riker shook his head. Life was never dull when Kate Pulaski was around. And what had she meant by Kyle…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Marie studied the young man who was cheerfully slurping tomato basil soup and wolfing down freshly baked rye bread with sweet butter at her harvest table.

"I take it that you approve of this wedding?"

"It's what I've wanted for years." Wesley shook his head. "Sometimes, I think that my efforts as a kid to bring them together, actually kept them apart. Pretty stupid, eh?"

"Actually, you sound like the kind of son I would be proud to call mine. Finish your soup, Wesley Crusher. Welcome to the family."

He happily complied.

"I feel as if I know you already, Wesley. Jean-Luc often wrote interesting letters concerning you. On more than one occasion, he stated that if he'd ever had a son, he'd want him to be exactly like you."

"Right. And did he write that before or after I disgraced him at the Academy? You weren't in the room with me after he read me the riot act. I failed him. I was so ashamed." He thoughtfully added, "And I don't think that I belong there anymore."

"Jean-Luc is proud of you," Marie softly stated with conviction, sensing the young man's inner confusion.

Wesley's spoon plunked into his soup, spattering a few red droplets. "What?" Wesley squeaked, ignoring the spots on his tunic. He couldn't believe his ears.

"Oh, you're quite wrong about Jean-Luc's opinion of you, Wesley. After the incident with the Nova Squadron, he wrote extensively about you. He blamed himself for not being a good enough of a teacher. He thought that he should have done more to help you cope with the peer pressures of cadet life. He felt that he should have been a better guide."

"But, Captain, that is Admiral Picard, didn't make my mistakes for me. I did."

And Marie admired the fact that this young man could shoulder the responsibilities for his own mistakes. He was a fine young man indeed.

"But I've discovered that Jean-Luc is that way, Wesley. He assumes responsibilities far beyond his concern. The fact that he shouldn't has never deterred him. I hope that your mother understands his nature."

"She does." He looked away, briefly. "I've always known that I was one of his responsibilities. He really doesn't like kids, you know. And I was always just a kid to him."

Marie's laugh was loud, her manner teasing. "Oh, Wesley! That is so untrue."

"What?" He tried to present a front of dignified indignation. And failed.

"He's always considered knowing you to be an exceptional privilege. You've challenged him in ways that he never thought he'd appreciate. You made him a better captain. You caused him to evaluate his position in so many areas. He told me."

"You do mean me?" Wes had to say, sounding confused.

"You're going to be a fine new cousin for my son. He wants to go to the Academy, you know. And you'll be a good mentor for him."

"Not really," Wesley gloomily thought, remembering all of his unrest in recent days. He wasn't Starfleet material. He knew it in his bones. But, what he really was, he had yet to discover.

Rene came running over with a small bag. "I'm all packed. Can we leave now? Can we?"

Wesley smiled over such enthusiasm.

Marie shook her head. "First we have to get several snifters full of brandy into your father, Rene. He has to be très ivre in order to shove him onto a spacecraft."

"I could just beam him on board," Wesley suggested.

"That would only work if I can administer a sedative immediately afterwards." Marie saw the questioning look in Wes' eyes. "I've traveled with my husband before. The best way to travel in space with Robert is when he's either in a stupor or sedated."

Much to everyone's surprise Robert walked onto the yacht under his own power. Though he did have several bottles of brandy in his luggage. Not to mention having had Wesley beam quite a few wine crates into the hold of the yacht. This Picard wedding was going to be as close to a Picard traditional wedding as possible..

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard stood at the entrance to Riker's quarters. He had never pictured himself playing poker with his junior officers before. He'd be violating one of his own unspoken rules of command. But then, he admitted to himself, he was about to no longer be in command.

"Come in, Jean-Luc," Riker called out as the man entered the room. He greeted his former captain with a large stein. "Ale?"

Picard eyed the pale blue ale before he accepted the glass stein and sat down in the lone empty chair at the table. "Is this what I think it is, Captain Riker? Surely there are no illegal substances on board my ship?"

Riker donned his most innocent looking masque. "Why, Admiral. What you must think of me. Dr. Selar provided the ale. Ergo, it must be Vulcan."

Picard took a sip. Only by the sheer strength of his will did he stop himself from choking. "Oh yes," he brokenly croaked out, as his throat burned from the fire in the ale. "This most definitely must be Vulcan ale." He drained the stein quickly. It hurt less going down that way.

"Another, Jean-Luc?"

"If you please."

Picard then settled himself in at the table, studying Riker, Worf, Barclay, Data and LaForge.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for inviting me."

"Our privilege, Admiral. I'm just sad that we've never done this before," LaForge responded with his typical openness.

"I do enjoy poker. I just did not care to play it with officers who were under my command." He watched them all nod in sympathy with his words. Then he casually added, "Besides, I didn't feel like fleecing fellow officers with whom I'd still have to serve in the future. That would be detrimental for your morale."

The party groaned in unison at the captain's challenging words.

"Wine, beer, peanuts, star mix and Thalassian chocolate cake - the latter is Deanna's contribution." Riker spread his arms open wide. "This is your bachelor party, Jean-Luc. And if this is not 'fancy' enough, if you'd rather have something more sophisticated, I managed to locate your arrangement of the Bach Brandenburg Concerto Number Three. I'll gladly play it if you wish. So, what do you say, Admiral?"

"I say that Bach shouldn't be disturbed by the sound of grown men sobbing." Picard glanced about even as his fellow officers groaned. He was wryly amused by their efforts. "Captain, you surprise me. I'd expected something ridiculously tasteless. That's usually more your style." He picked up a hand full of the star mix with its putrid glow-in-the-dark purple nuts. "This comes close."

Mr. Data was surprised by the admiral's insults.

"Sir, I have never noticed Captain Riker's ridiculously tasteless sense of style before. I have always considered his style to be within the acceptable norm." He thought for a nano-second. "Ridiculous, correct." He glanced over at Picard. "Perhaps, the captain has overstepped certain parameters at specific incidences. But tastelessness - not in my…" He paused and ran something past his memory chips. "Rarely, that is. Except for the thirty-nine Risian incidents. And the two-hundred-and-forty-three personal citations in his personnel file from a brief posting on Betazed. Though I am not so sure that I should count those incidents since they were all filed by the same Betazed Ambassador. And are not part of the captain's official Starfleet record."

"Data, when it comes to discussion of Will Riker's tastelessness, I am the one with the evidence. After all, you don't have a Horga'hn sitting on your nightstand like I do." He mentally added, "And you didn't have to explain why you had one to your fiancée."

Riker took the insult in stride. He was feeling charitable today. "I think that the Admiral is repaying me for a favor. Though considering the results, I would have thought that you still owed me. I was told on good authority that you did learn how to do Jamaharon." He blithely ignored the censure in Jean-Luc's stare as he drank some of his own ale. "I've got news for you, Jean-Luc. I wanted there to be dancing girls at this little get together. But, there aren't any career nude dancers on board the Enterprise. And you don't want to know who would've volunteered. I don't know what you were expecting, but if you'd wanted a traditional bachelor party, you should've scheduled a short leave on Risa. There, I could have found a multitude of friendly nude dancers who enjoy creating happenings."

And Riker grinned, knowing that he had one-upped Jean-Luc. He imagined that he was one of the few in history that had ever accomplished this. And he was right.

"Actually, Captain, there is," Mr. Data commented.

Riker stopped his shuffling. "There is what?"

"A professional nude dancer on board the Enterprise," Data stated, not quite understanding Riker's reaction to his words.

"Mr. Data? I've got a nude professional dancer on board?" Riker forcefully asked, mentally reviewing what he knew about the female population on board the ship. He didn't see how he could have possibly missed noticing an exotic dancer. He didn't think that he was that far removed from scandalous pastimes - in spite of Deanna's presence.

"Deanna Troi," was Mr. Data's response.

Riker dropped the card deck onto the table.

Cards scattered.

Mr. Worf graciously leaned down and picked up the cards that had ended up on the floor. Mr. Worf handed them back to his new captain without making a comment.

The things he had to do for his new commanding officer.

Riker too-casually started to straighten out his shuffle. "When has Counselor Troi ever danced nude in public, Mr. Data?" He wasn't about to mention those times when she'd danced for him in private.

"All Betazed weddings."

Riker groaned, understanding Data's logic.

Picard rather dryly stated, "It is a Betazed custom, Mr. Data. And that is not the same thing as hiring a professional strip tease artist for a party. Review such matters afterward."

"Really? Counselor Troi is a professional. And a review of her record reveals that she's counseled many Betazed couples in their marriage preparations, including the pre-wedding parties. And, oftentimes, these counseling sessions were held in the nude."

"Mr. Data," Riker interrupted. "We're here to take the Admiral's credits and not to discuss Counselor Troi's work habits."

"Perhaps I should suggest to Beverly that we have a traditional Betazed ceremony. Hmmm… I wonder how she'd react." There was a decided gleam in Jean-Luc's eye as he mused out loud.

Will grinned. "I really want to be there when you do, Jean-Luc."

Will was delighted to see the man unbending, the reserve that was his second nature, disappearing. He'd always suspected that Jean-Luc had a rich sense of humor. Now, it was showing.

"Actually, Sir," Mr. Data added, "it would be inappropriate for you and Doctor Crusher to share such a ceremony. Of course, if you had been caught in Lwaxana Troi's campaign to marry you, then a traditional Betazed wedding would have been correct."

Riker enjoyed watching Jean-Luc squirm at this idea. Riker nonchalantly asked, "How did you know that Mrs. Troi was campaigning to snare Captain Picard?"

"Yes, how did you know?" Picard interjected into the conversation, not quite hiding his testiness still, at the thought of Lwaxana Troi on the prowl.

"She told me so." Data's response was direct.

"You asked," Picard queried, somewhat dumbfounded.

"No, Sir. She told me."

Riker shook his head, trying to straighten out his thoughts. "What precisely did Mrs. Troi ask you, Mr. Data?" Will Riker could believe just about anything when it came to Lwaxana Troi. The thought that those citations were still on his record, even if it wasn't the official Starfleet one, still rankled.

"Why, everything about Captain Picard, that is Admiral Picard. His habits, hobbies, diet, choice of wine, sexual preferences…"

"Enough, Mr. Data!" Picard ordered as Worf simultaneously roared, "And you told her?"

Data blinked, analyzed the reactions of the officers around the table, and asked, "Was I wrong to do so, Sir?"

And Picard started to laugh and laugh.

Riker joined in with, "Lwaxana was, as we say down home in Alaska, gunnin' for bear, Jean-Luc." He lifted up his tankard. "To Jean-Luc Picard - the bear that got away. Until Beverly bear-trapped him, that is."

Even Worf permitted himself an expression that could be identified as a smile.

"But the Admiral is not ursine in nature…" He stopped speaking when he noted Geordi shaking his head.

Geordi intervened, "Shut up and put in your ante, Data. I'll explain everything later."

"Mr. Data," Picard observed, "when someone requests such personal information from you, you should first check with the person involved to see if you have their permission to discuss such details."

"Noted, Sir."

Riker took over. "We play for serious credits here, Jean-Luc." Riker displayed his best card shark from hell skills as he dealt, relishing the moment. "Prepare to forfeit your pay."

"Really, Captain Riker. I'm the one in need of funds. I'm getting married in a few days. And I have a step-son to support."

"Not to mention a wife."

On Picard's questioning look, Riker cheerily explained, "I've been shopping with Beverly in bazaars. It is an exhausting experience - especially if you're stuck carrying her bags." Riker then instructed as he shuffled, "Ferengi Hold 'Em, nothing wild."

A few hours later, Picard stared at Riker. It was down to the two of them for this hand. Five card draw. Jacks or better to open. There was no Federation Day for with hand there was nothing wild. Picard glanced as the stack of credits in the pot. It was also the biggest pot of the night. He flipped a hundred credit marker over. "Raise."

Riker coolly nodded, wearing his best poker face. Trouble was, the man sitting across from his had spent seven years learning how to read his poker face. He looked at what was left of his stack. He added a hundred credit chip. Then he shoved the remainder of his pot forward. "My hold against what's left in yours."

Picard shoved all of his credits forward. "Call."

Riker flipped over his cards displaying five different diamonds.

Geordi whistled in appreciation. "First natural flush of the night."

Picard turned over his first card. It was an ace of clubs. The next was a king of clubs. Then the queen of clubs. When Picard flipped over the jack of clubs, Will's smile was not quite so steady as it had been a moment earlier. Picard hesitated before turning over the final card. And then he cracked a slightly lopsided smile. The last card was a jack of spades.

Riker breathed an auditory sigh of relief as he raked in all the credits.

Picard looked about the table. Mr. Worf had a respectable number of credits before him. Geordi was wiped out. So was Mr. Data. Mr. Barclay had almost as many credits before him as Will Riker did.

Picard stood, stretching, regretting that this time had come to an end. "Gentlemen, than you very much for the honor of your company. I truly have enjoyed myself. However, I have someplace where I must be tomorrow morning, and so do all of you. We will play poker again in the future." And with that he left, with a satisfied look on his face.

"I do not understand, Captain." For Data, he looked more puzzled than usual by human standards. "Considering that it was Admiral Picard's bachelor party, should we not have let him win more than two games?"

Riker explained, "Ah, Mr. Data, there's an old Earth adage…"

"Lucky at cards, unlucky at love," Geordi explained. "The Admiral's glad that he really didn't win tonight."

"In other words, we did the Admiral a favor?" Data asked.

"You most certainly could say that," Riker happily agreed as he was placing his stacks of chips into neat little rows.

Riker had learned quite a few lessons about Jean-Luc Picard tonight. He had always admired the officer. Now, he was getting to know what his friend was like. Riker hoped that the feeling was reciprocated. He had also learned that Jean-Luc could be one mean card player.

Data spoke up. "Considering the Admiral's skill in poker, it is a pity that he never joined us during the poker tournaments between the starships. He would have been an asset."

Riker agreed. "Yes, Mr. Data. Jean-Luc Picard is an asset wherever he goes…"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

As bachelor parties go, Jean-Luc Picard's party had been very tame. He didn't know that when he arrived as SB 42 certain admirals were getting together to give him another party - an admiral's only dinner bachelor send-off dinner.

He thought about Will's party. Not that he would ever say so to Will Riker, but he was somewhat disappointed. Picard had expected at least one memorable, tasteless moment from his exec.

He remembered what he had done to Jack Crusher, at his bachelor party so many years ago. After Jack had finally forgiven him for it, it had been something that they'd talked about rather fondly, during their many years together on board the Stargazer.

Picard sighed, and reconsidered the possibility that maybe he'd been lucky after all that his party had not been held on Risa. He was too old to be chasing around looking for his clothes, his credits and his comm badge. There was nothing quite so embarrassing as having to ask what planet you were on when you were stark naked and hung over.

After getting a cup of tea from the replicator, he settled in behind the desk in his quarters and started finishing off reports that he didn't want to leave for Riker to do.

And then he wondered how Beverly's bachelorette party was proceeding. He reached down into a side compartment and pulled out the box that held Beverly's engagement ring. He had yet to find the right moment to give it to his lady.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly gingerly held up her bachelorette party gift from Ro Laren. It was glowing red. It violently clashed with her hair. It was in two pieces. It was crotch-less. And though it consisted of a pair of billowing pants and a midi top with puffy sleeves, it was so sheer that she could read a view screen page through the material - even after it was folded over four times.

"I didn't know that the ship's stores carried anything like that," whispered Alyssa Ogawa to Deanna. Ro overheard the comment.

"They don't." Her smile was tight, hinting at a side of her character, most had never suspected existed.

"Thank you, Laren," Beverly said, still fingering the silky material. "I'll show these to Jean-Luc in a little while."

Deanna tittered as Beverly searched for a better choice of words.

"That is, I'll tell him who gave them to me, when I've got them on."

Deanna laughed some more.

"Don't you dare. He might take back my promotion!" Ro protested, feeling comfortable enough now with these women to actually tease.

Deanna mentioned, "Now Laren, he might give you another pip instead, once he sees Beverly in that outfit."

Alyssa cast a critical albeit somewhat wavering eye upon the outfit as she drank some purple punch. "You know, if you folded it over a couple of times, you might have enough material there to make a nice handkerchief…"

Giggles reigned again.

"Stop it," Beverly ordered. "This is my party and I want it to stay dignified…"

Too many ladies giggled at this thought.

"Too late," Alyssa announced, as she went for another cup of punch - and a piece of chocolate cake. If there was one thing about a party thrown by Deanna, you knew that it would never run out of anything made with chocolate…

Deanna picked up another box, shook it, and then handed it to Beverly. It thunked.

"Be forewarned about this one, Beverly."

"Oh?"

"Will and Mr. Data picked it out." Deanna knowingly glanced around her quarters. Everyone had stopped their drinking and their eating. All were curious to see what Riker and Data had chosen. "There's a card." She handed that to Beverly too.

Carefully, Beverly opened up the card and read out loud, "Because of the Admiral's interest in archaeology and history, Will and I thought that this would be appropriate. Data."

She hesitantly lifted up the box cover. She stared for a moment. And then she started to laugh so hard that she dropped the box. "Will's a dead man," Beverly gasped through her laughter. "I'm going to show this to Jean-Luc, and… and…"

Deanna picked up the metal object. It most definitely wasn't jewelry. She held it up. And most of the women in the room started laughing hysterically. She glanced over at Laren. "What is it?" Ro shook her head. Deanna looked over at Ensign Gates. "Do you know, Lizzy?"

Lizzy gasped and then choked out, "It's a chastity belt!"

"If it does what I think it does, Will is going to enjoy being an ensign again…"

Beverly merrily concurred, as she was racked anew with laughter. "At least they included the keys!"

"How does it work?" Deanna lifted it up and started to examine it.

Beverly grabbed it away from Deanna and sort of showed her how to wear it midst a chorus of laughter. She then grabbed the top to Laren's gift. "Maybe I'll wear them together."

Deanna agreed. "That would give Admiral Picard an incentive to pick the lock."

After a few more inappropriate comments, and more Risian purple fruit punch, Deanna handed Beverly another gift. "From me. It's a Betazed tradition. It's considered to be a gift to be used as a first anniversary present. Though many couples celebrate with it year after year."

Beverly ripped off the twinkling holographic wrapping paper covered with copulating putti. Inside of the box was a gilded wreath of flowers: shimmering, glittering, dancing. The craftsmanship was exquisite. "Oh, Deanna, it's lovely! How do I wear it? On what do I wear it?"

"You wear it on your first anniversary," Deanna explained. And then rapidly added, "With nothing else on at all. Where you wear it is up to you."

Beverly's face turned red.

"And you all thought that my first gift was risqué?" Ro mumbled as she deeply drank her blue ale. "Wait until you see the second…"

"Wear it with a little nice perfume," Alyssa suggested.

"And high heels," Dr. Selar added. All turned to look at the Vulcaness. "I've done considerable research into human male sexual fantasies. It's an area of studies that greatly interests me." She spoke so seriously, they all took her seriously, though Beverly did have a sneaking suspicion otherwise. Selar was too droll at times. And she had provided the Vulcan blue ale too.

Dr. Selar reached down and picked up a box. "Vulcans normally do not celebrate their betrothals with such parties. However, I have spent most of my life off-Vulcan midst humans. I have learned to accept illogical albeit traditional human behavior." She handed Beverly a box. "Since a gift is customary, I thought that you should get at least one useful gift."

Beverly carefully opened up the perfectly wrapped box with its silvery paper and ribbons. She lifted up something in sapphire blue. It was sheer silk chiffon, though it did have, of all things, a medical insignia embroidered over a small navy blue breast pocket.

Deanna took one look at it, stared at Dr. Selar with great suspicion, and tried not to break out into hysterical laughter. Again.

Puzzled, even as she held it up against her body, Beverly quizzed Selar, "What is it?"

It was Deanna who answered. "It's a medical doctor's coat." Then Deanna sent another doubting look at Dr. Selar. Obviously the Vulcaness was a far better telepath than her psych records indicated for Captain Picard's sexual fantasies concerning Beverly in a see-through med coat had been one of his more consistant, vivid images.

"But I can't wear this by itself!" Beverly spoke, not realizing that she was speaking her thoughts out loud. She took another sip of her punch.

"You could dress it up with some of the lingerie you've received tonight. Or with this."

Beverly turned around, pretending to be shocked and conferred upon Laren her best, affronted superior officer's look. "What?"

Laren handed Beverly a small box. "Certain Bajoran women sometimes practice stimulation. Especially on older lovers."

"Jean-Luc is most certainly not an old man!" Beverly huffed. And then realized what her words sounded like to the crowd in the room.

"You should know," Laren answered.

Beverly didn't deign to comment as she fumbled to open Laren's gift. Inside was something that looked like a Bajoran earring. But it was slightly wider, and had more long, dangling tassels, fobs and chains than the typical earring. "What's this?"

Laren's smile was indecent. "You can clip it on. Wherever. Sometimes Bajoran women like to see their men adorned."

Comprehension dawned. As she turned bright red, Beverly choked out, "Oh, no… I… Jean-Luc would never…"

"Never say never…" Deanna advised. "Take Jean-Luc to the wine country about a year from now, drink a few bottles, wear the lab coat and nothing else except high heels, and then see what he says…" Deanna hiccupped. "Oh, lord. I'm beginning to sound just like my mother when she gives romantic advice!"

"Adjustable," Ro sprightly added.

"Eminently practical," Selar observed. "The way those little balls could hit then energize…" Selar picked up the jewelry, carefully examined it and then chose to inform Beverly, "However, this would be too small for most Vulcan phalli."

Laren started whooping at this most bald-faced of statements. "Like you've done some sort of research?"

"Actually, I have," Dr. Selar calmly informed the company.

Beverly ignored all of this as she somewhat weakly stood up from the sofa, and went over to the refreshment table. She decided to stick with something safe like the punch. She had a suspicion that the blue potent potable wasn't Vulcan.

Outside in the corridor, Picard approached Deanna's quarters, when the sound of raucous laughter halted him in his step. Perhaps interrupting Beverly's party to say good night, was not such a wise idea. The ladies did sound like they were having a rowdy good time.

He pivoted and moved away from the door.

"Wise man," came a voice from behind him.

He whirled and faced Guinan. "I would have thought that you would be attending the party."

"Really?" Guinan asked, her eyebrows arched. "You believe that I truly have that generous a nature?"

Picard studied her for a long moment. And then took her hands. "Guinan, in all the years that I have known you…"

She interrupted him. "And then some…"

"I have never known you to have a petty inclination."

"You've never seen me trapped on an asteroid with Q." But, she relented and leaned over to kiss his forehead. "I'm going to go into Deanna's quarters and tell Beverly all of your secrets. Your peccadilloes. Your faults. Your really bad, annoying, irritating habits. And that you snore."

"I do not snore!"

Guinan rolled her eyes.

"At least Beverly has never said anything over breakfast…"

"You mean you actually let Beverly stay the night? There might be hope for you yet." She hugged him. And he let her. "You know, I don't think that I will miss that ungoverned and lunatic ensign that I once knew, any more. You've turned into quite a good man. And you won't be that bad of an admiral - or husband, either. It is time. And I do wish you the best of everything with my heart." She shook herself loose from his grip. "Now, let me go. I've still got a lot to tell the lady. Who knows, I might get lucky and she'll call the whole thing off."

"The truth, eh?"

He kissed Guinan lightly on the lips, not caring if a passing crew member saw them.

"Go forth and slay dragons, Guinan."

"Demagogues, Jean-Luc. Not dragons." But her smile was rather amused.

And as he turned to walk away from her, she pinched his behind. Hard. He wheeled and looked at her with a resigned, affronted, long-suffering expression.

"I've always wanted to do that," Guinan explained, giving him her best, most innocent smile. "And don't forget about tomorrow!"

Jean-Luc was still shaking with laughter when he went around the corner, out of sight.

Guinan entered Deanna's quarters, looked over the room of ladies, observed their punch-fueled antics, and then just asked the room at large, "Who put Scotty's joy juice in the punch?"

She was actually shocked when someone answered her.

"I did," Dr. Selar responded, gliding over next to the lady, as she too, followed the various activities and conversations of the ladies in the room.

"I thought Vulcans didn't drink - except ta'liah."

"We don't." Selar's words were cool, in spite of the levity that was happening about them.

"Are you telling me that you, as a logical, cool, rational Vulcan, deliberately put alcohol - not synthehol - but real, gut-punching, teeth-rotting alcohol, into Beverly Crusher's party punch?"

Guinan squared off before the doctor. Guinan knew how to handle Vulcans. She'd lived with one for almost half a century.

"Yes." Selar's reply was as before, unruffled.

"Why?" A wiser person would have sensed the ire behind Guinan's deceptive tone of voice.

"Field study."

Guinan gathered her formidable forced about her, ready to explode, when Selar spoke again.

"Gotcha."

Guinan blinked. And then blinked again. "What?"

"Gotcha. Isn't that the correct, human slang?"

"What?" Guinan was repeating herself. Being around Vulcans could do that to her.

"Where is it written that Vulcans do not have a sense of humor, Madam Guinan? Is it not illogical to assume that we do not?" Selar almost smiled. "Besides, it has taken me six years and two months, to repay you for your last similar gesture towards me, Madam Guinan." She glanced about the room, taking in all of the various groups conversing. "It's been interesting surveying human social interactions." She stepped away from Guinan. "Besides, Beverly is my friend. I am pleased with her forthcoming marriage. I was also privileged to help Deanna arrange this party. And I have left the appropriate number of alcohol neutralizer hyposprays on the credenza."

"Glad to have been of some service," Guinan responded, torn between having a Vulcan for a snack, or joining her in a libation.

Selar leaned close, whispering, "I'm quarter human." She left the party with a parting challenge, "And that part likes a drink now and then."

"Drop by Ten-Forward sometime," Guinan proposed to the retreating Vulcaness.

Guinan looked about the room, deciding who needed the hangover remedies now, and who would need them later. She found Beverly, Deanna, Laren, Alyssa and Lizzy seated about the coffee table, slurping even more punch. Their conversation was decidedly raunchy.

"And then…," Laren explained, exhibiting a languid slur to her voice as she remembered a night of abandoned passion more vividly than was prudent or wise. "…after our third bout, I put it on him. He thought he was finished. By the time I got done adjusting and tightening everything, he wasn't. Poor baby didn't get any sleep that night…"

"I sense that it was someone on board this ship," Deanna prognosticated. "Someone you're still close to…"

"Not that close," Laren laughingly admitted, eyes shutting to hide her regret. "It turned out to be only a short affair. But oh, whatta three nights!"

Beverly looked away, momentarily recalling such an occasion herself.

Deanna noticed and teased, "Does Jean-Luc have reason to need a chastity belt?"

They all giggled, as an increasingly flustered Beverly shook her head in denial. "I mean," Beverly hiccupped, "before Jean-Luc, he was somebody that I trusted and admired." Beverly added, "He respected me."

"Uhuh."

"But, oh, the body! Big." She blushed again. "Very strong." This time her words were deliberate as she skipped down memory lane. She added as a lagniappe, "Skilled."

"Ooooohhhh," feminine voices chorused.

"Knowledgeable. Very knowledgeable."

"Even better," Lizzy commented.

"In female anatomy."

"Sometimes useful," Guinan sagaciously agreed as she unobtrusively moved about, picking up the empty plates and glasses.

"And he loved me," Beverly sighed. "Really, really, really loved me. And I loved him. But it wasn't enough - to merely love."

"What more did you need?" Laren asked.

"A commitment. That didn't happen." Beverly sighed, again. "It wasn't allowed to happen. But oh, I did miss the lovemaking."

Only Guinan knew that Beverly was discussing the lovemaking skills of Odan and Mr. Riker.

Somehow, after hours had passed, the party finally wound down, much to the joy of Deanna's neighbors. Finally, all that were left was Beverly counting silk underwear, along with Deanna and Guinan.

"Your punch was spiked," Guinan commented, as she continued to clean up. "Selar did it."

"Right," Beverly agreed as she wondered what her friends thought of her. The number of crotch-less silk panties was mind-boggling.

Guinan administered the hangover remedy to her friend.

"I think that I've had a much fuller love-life in the minds of my friends, than I ever did in reality." It took Beverly another minute before Guinan's words made sense to her.

Beverly stiffened.

"Did you say, Selar? My Doctor Selar? The stuffy Vulcaness who's under my command?"

"She said she was doing some sort of Vulcan survey."

"I'll thank her in the morning," Beverly icily announced, preserving her anger as best she could.

'You're going nowhere but to bed," Guinan recommended.

"We're not drunk," Deanna protested. Then her bones turned to jelly as she slid off of the sofa, disproving her statement. She stuck her nose into some of the presents on the table. "You gotta alotta loot."

"Which I can never use on Jean-Luc Picard."

"Why not?" Deanna inquired, quite serious in her questioning. She knew the man to be quite liberal in certain matters. "He's a French man. Even I recognize that he's very, very sexy. Sophisticated. Open to suggestions."

"But I can't make them!" gasped Beverly, turning from her friends. "That's part of the problem - he's too cosmopolitan! I can't always carry off his kind of sophistication." Beverly turned around on the sofa, reaching for her punch cup, not realizing that Guinan had silently removed them all. She started to sob, the alcohol she had consumed wreaking havoc in a blood system unused to such intoxicants.

Guinan gave Beverly another dose from the hypospray.

"Beverly, you never struck me as the inhibited type, before." Deanna was calm with her assessment of her friend, for her hangover dose was working. "I have always considered you and Jean-Luc to be compatible."

"No, not Jean-Luc. Jack. Because with Jack, we were alike. We could be as outrageous as we wanted to be. But we did it together. We were from the same worlds. But with Jean-Luc… His dreams, his thoughts - On Kesprytt. I learned too much about him!"

"And this is a bad thing because…" Deanna soothing asked.

"He's an aristo-cat… crat. Oh, intellectually, we're equals, but emotionally and socially? The gap is galaxy wide. Wiley makes deals for me so that he can get Jean-Luc!" Beverly bawled. "I'm not…"

Guinan stopped her. Her eyes were blazing with anger. "Don't you dare say it! And don't even think it! Jean-Luc was a callow youth who took his own good time to grow up. When you were a cadet, you already were the person you are today - mature, compassionate, caring, loving and even able to make a commitment. Even as a teenager, you knew what was important in life. But Jean-Luc? How many times did he have to get clobbered with the proverbial two-by-four before the light began to dawn? He'd already lived a lifetime before you became a cadet! Of course he is more experienced that you - in some things. But with the things that truly matter in life?" Guinan paused, her expression clearly revealing her recollection of something in her past and Jean-Luc's role in it. "Look at how many years it's taken Jean-Luc to come close to your level of maturity, Beverly. He's damn lucky to have you, Beverly Howard Crusher. Never think otherwise."

Deanna comforted Beverly. "Guinan's speaking only the truth."

Guinan responded, "Damn right. Your destiny - it is Jean-Luc. You're the head of Starfleet Medical for heaven's sake! And you didn't get there by sleeping to the top."

But Beverly's antidotes kicked in. Beverly fell asleep. Guinan arranged for Beverly to be beamed onto her bed.

Deanna began bundling up Beverly's gifts. "She's right you know. In some areas." Deanna looked at Guinan, curiosity coloring her expression. "I am a marriage counselor, a sex therapist, and a Betazed who grew up trained in all aspects of sex and love making. And even I do not know what all of this stuff is used for…"

Deanna picked up a flexible wand with flopping tassels made of soft red leather, dangling from one end. "I mean, what by the Holy Rings of Betazed, is this?"

Guinan chuckled before answering. "A Vulcan tickler." She did not care to demonstrate its function. Certain things were best left to the imagination...


	15. THE FINAL FRONTIER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I know that this is short. There is a lot more to come. But this was one scene that I thought should stand alone…

CHAPTER 15: The Final Frontier…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

He stood there, in his ready room, just gazing at the stars. He held a cup of Earl Grey tea. It was no longer hot. In fact, it had cooled off more than thirty minutes ago, held in his hands. It was still untouched.

He wasn't thinking of anything specific. He was just feeling.

Finally, he looked around the ready room noting his Collected Works of Shakespeare, the 19th century sextant to the Red Jack which had been a gift from his Aunt Adele when he had first become captain of the Stargazer, his antiquities, and a crystal shard - acknowledging to himself that tomorrow he would have to remove his things from this room. In one more duty shift, it would all be over.

Then it would be Will's turn to turn the Enterprise into his Enterprise.

Something chimed.

He didn't need to check to know what the alert meant.

It was time.

He drank his tea ignoring the fact that it was now cold, put the cup down on his desk with care, as always, and then walked onto the bridge, assuming that he'd find the usual gamma night shift crew in their places.

Captain Riker got up from his captain's chair, and stepped over to the one that he used to occupy. He waited, expectantly.

Picard stilled for a moment, looking around the bridge. Commander Worf, Commander LaForge and Counselor Troi , were all at their usual duty stations. Commander Data and Lieutenant Ro stood by tactical.

In silence, he slowly walked down the ramp to his chair, his fingers briefly caressing the inlaid wood of the railing. Then he fingered his padd for a moment, placing it by his console.

He looked squarely at them all - his senior line officers. He observed them for a while, examining every single officer. They didn't squirm as they all stood at attention under his gaze.

Perhaps it was a trick of lighting that seemed to find something glinting in the corner of his eyes as he looked at every one of them.

Finally, he quietly stated in his characteristic, dignified manner, "Thank you."

He was touched, truly touched, that they had chosen to honor him in this way.

"Thank you, Captain Jean-Luc Picard," Captain William Thomas Riker formally responded, speaking for them all. Then he nodded.

All crewmembers returned to their stations.

Captain Picard sat down in his captain's chair for the last duty watch that he would ever serve as captain on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, 1701-D.

"Report, Mr. Data."

"All systems are functioning within their normal parameters…"


	16. THE WEDDING PLANNER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think that planning a wedding three hundred years from now would be easier than it is today... but some things never change.

CHAPTER 16: The Wedding Planner

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly stomped into Ten-Forward at the appointed hour.

She didn't dissemble.

"What did you mean by 'destiny'?" She glared at the barkeep. "You said it to me last night."

"Are you sure?" Guinan coolly answered as she picked up a pot of freshly brewed Jamaican Blue coffee.

"Yes!"

"Then I must have said it - or something like it." She poured out a cup of coffee for Beverly. "You've got a lot to live through, Beverly. You're about to marry a Starfleet official who is going to be making a lot of history."

"Jean-Luc is no official!"

"He is, now."

Beverly eyed Guinan warily. "I want more of an explanation than that. What history?"

"It's not my place to tell you. But the two of you will find your future interesting."

"Tell me!" On Guinan's stern glance, she added more softly, "Please."

"Well, for one thing, it will never be dull."

"It isn't dull now, Guinan."

"There will be times when you will wish for dull, Beverly."

"You're Q, aren't you?" Beverly voiced her long-held suspicions.

"No, I'm not." On Beverly's disbelieving expression, she added, "All right. I'm a cousin." Beverly's gaze still held her suspicions. "All right. All right. Sort of a first cousin."

This she accepted.

"Does Jean-Luc know?"

"Intuitively, sub-consciously - I think he knows. He's always followed my advice even when it was not the most logical and/or practical thing for him to do."

"Why?"

"Did Jean-Luc ever tell you how we met?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, sometime during the middle of your honeymoon, after you've made love a couple of dozen times and he's in a really good mood, talk him into telling you the story. I think that you'll find it interesting." Guinan poured herself some coffee.

"Guinan…," Beverly warned. "I give up. You were trying to tell me something last night. What was it?"

"I've known the man for centuries. I have known of you just a little over two decades. You were my friend long before we met. And then we met in person seven years ago and solidified the relationship."

She automatically added cream to Beverly's mug and then shoved it toward the doctor. "One of the things I've learned about the man is that when he gives his loyalties, he doesn't waver. Ever. You'll never have to worry about Jean-Luc committing adultery with another woman, Beverly. To cheat would be unthinkable. Anathema. Against his nature."

"That's one of the reasons why he always avoided making a commitment to me when he was captain of the Enterprise." Her expression saddened. "He didn't want to betray his first lady of choice."

"Not exactly. The man loved you - but he was afraid of you. You could make him do things that he didn't really want to do - things that weren't on his agenda. You could make him feel things that really scared him."

"Me? I don't have that kind of power over him." She impatiently shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Why did you pick Jack over Jean-Luc?"

"There wasn't a choice." Beverly started to feel annoyed. Guinan was poking into private matters that were none of her business.

"Right. Jack asked. Jean-Luc didn't." Guinan saw something for a second, in Beverly's blue eyes. "Well, maybe Jean-Luc did ask, but it was not the kind of a question that you would accept at the time."

Guinan tasted her coffee. She always prided herself that Ten-Forward never served the replicated kind.

"Or, is that the problem? You seriously thought about going off with Jean-Luc…"

Through gritted teeth, Beverly argued, "Jean-Luc never did anything improper once he knew that I was Jack's fiancée!"

"We each remember history and the Blue Parrot Bar in our own way, Beverly."

Beverly's eyes widened in shock. The only way that Guinan could have known about the Blue Parrot bar is if Jean-Luc had told her…

"Oh, don't look at me like that. And don't be mad at Jean-Luc. He went on a bender the night you married Jack. I was the one who bailed him out of a Risian jail, and then listened to the man babble on for three days whilst I got him sober. I also did my best to convince him that he'd get over you. Of course, I hadn't met you then. I didn't know you were his soul mate."

Beverly honestly didn't know what to say.

"Besides, you've got other things to worry about right now, than ancient history. There are matters that Jean-Luc might consider unimportant, but in fact these matters are the exact opposite." Guinan sighed, knowing she had Beverly's interest again. "For such a practical man, he has too romantic of a heroic soul. He doesn't understand about pragmatic dangers. Or politics. You both are about to swim in political filled waters with little fishies far more dangerous than Livingstone. You've got to make sure that none of Jean-Luc's distaste for political machinations becomes too obvious to those who prize such dealings the most. There are those who live and die only for the thrill of gamesmanship and victory. They need that feeling of power. Jean-Luc truly doesn't understand such base motivations. You do."

"What?"

'You're a doctor. You play god. And though you've had the good sense not to fall into that common god-complex trap personally, you'll soon be dealing with people who have."

"What?"

"You've never sought such power outright, but such experiences come with the medical territory. You know how it can feel. You know its temptations."

Guinan spoke as she added four teaspoons of sugar to her coffee. She tasted it again, and then added another spoon of sugar. Then she stirred clinking her spoon against the sides of the mug. For a while, it was the only sound to be heard in the bar.

"I don't understand…"

Guinan only raised a hairless eyebrow.

"I've never been much of a politician, Guinan," Beverly softly stated, after digesting most of Guinan's words. "I did not fare well, the last time I was at Starfleet Medical."

"But you learned, Red. You're going back much more prepared to do battle for the important things than you were before. For one thing, you're going back willingly. You're not running away this time."

"I did not run away!"

"As I said before, we each remember history differently." She took a long sip of her coffee. Then she added a dollop of Saurian brandy to it. She lifted the bottle towards Beverly's untouched mug. Beverly shook her head.

"This time, Red, you're going back as an admiral. Trust me, Beverly, those bars on your collar will make a big difference in the way that people treat you - and in what you can do. And in what you can get done. You might even find time for a lot of research, if you so wish it. You'll be getting a staff that knows what they are doing. Let them do it." She took another sip of coffee. "I know a few of them. They are my friends. The rest - you'll figure out what they are, pretty fast."

"I want my staff to respect me because I am a good doctor - and not because I've got bars stuck to my collar."

"You're a brilliant doctor, Beverly, and you know it. But that fact won't matter to certain types of people. And unfortunately, most of Starfleet Command is made up of the kind of beings that like playing the politician's games. You and Jean-Luc will have to learn how to deal with them on a daily basis."

'You're painting a rather depressing picture of my future, Guinan." Beverly picked up the brandy bottle, poured a small amount into her coffee, and then drank the whole thing. Guinan automatically poured more coffee into her mug, and then added some more cream. Beverly declined the brandy.

"Starfleet needs Jean-Luc, desperately. And they need you. Both of you are good people who have the right kind of definition of 'duty'. Besides, if you're in charge of Starfleet Medical, you can actually get your hospital starship fleet going."

"How on earth did you know…"

"Jean-Luc talks in his sleep…"

For a second, Beverly froze. Was Guinan actually confirming her suspicions about the sexual relationship that she'd probably had with Jean-Luc?

"That's a pretty odd thing for Jean-Luc to say in his sleep."

"Maybe I probed his mind a little at the time."

Beverly did not permit her jaw to drop, though she really felt the need to do it.

Guinan was a telepath too?

Then she started chuckling.

It made sense.

"Jean-Luc never really had a chance, did he? You staked him out, corralled him and then branded him as your friend. And he has no idea."

"No, he doesn't, Beverly. Are you going to tell him?"

"I'll have to think about it." But considering the kind of friendship that Guinan shared with Jean-Luc, Beverly doubted that it would become a topic of conversation in the near future.

By the expression on Guinan's face, Beverly suddenly realized that Guinan was reading her thoughts.

Then Guinan chuckled. "I only intrude every now and then, or when an emotion is absolutely overpowering. My abilities are a little bit stronger than Deanna's abilities. But I am mainly an empath with a slight telepathic talent."

"Why, Guinan?"

Guinan did not misunderstand the question. "Like I said before, Starfleet needs both of you. Your kind is the best kind of mankind, Beverly. You and Jean-Luc will always be an example."

"I don't want that."

"You never had a choice, Beverly. You were born being it. So was Jean-Luc. And when you had to make the choice of the kind of people you would be, well, you know what both of you chose." Guinan finished off her coffee. "And my kind decided to be the guardian angels so to speak, of your kind of people. I don't always choose to offer my friendship, but when I do, it is forever." She glanced about Ten-Forward. "That's why I show up around here, now and then. If only to bedevil the man…"

"So we can expect to see you in San Francisco?"

"I'll visit now and then. But I am staying here with Will. Somebody's got to teach that man about life. He's got a lot of growing up to do before he becomes half the captain that Jean-Luc was."

"Will might disagree with you."

Guinan's expression became all-knowing. "He'll never know for he will only know what I let him know."

As Beverly processed this last statement, Jean-Luc entered Ten-Forward, glanced about the bar and then focused on its two occupants.

"Guinan," he nodded. "Beverly," he whispered, as he came over and kissed her cheek.

Beverly casually stated, "Guinan's been telling me all sorts of things."

The way that she looked at him, he found it unsettling. He nervously glanced over at Guinan.

All she asked was, "Coffee? Or tea?"

"Tea."

She stepped away to make it.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had a few communiqués…"

"No matter. You're here now, and that is what counts. Though I think Riker is going to lose some credits because you did show up." Beverly grinned as if discussing such a bet was commonplace.

"What?"

"Surely you knew about all the betting pools?"

"Yes. Are you saying that my Number One not only knew about but participated in betting pools as well?"

"Of course. So did I."

He found the way that Beverly was grinning at him to be very unsettling.

"Dare I ask who ran the pools?"

"Guess."

His eyes immediately went to Guinan.

"Don't even think it, Jean-Luc," Guinan announced as she placed a steaming mug of tea in front of the former captain. "I only bet. I never organized."

"Do I even want to know?"

Guinan patted his hand. "It would be better if you didn't. You'll want to keep your good memories intact."

He mentally groaned. And then he looked about Ten-Forward. All was ready for the transfer of command ceremony. With a pang of regret, he recognized that at this moment, his sojourn as captain of the Enterprise was being measured in minutes rather than by years.

"I believe we are supposed to be discussing wedding plans? What have you and Guinan discussed, Beverly?"

Beverly merely smiled at Guinan. "We'll go with whatever Guinan wants. She's going to do it her way, anyway. Less fuss if I just give in now."

Jean-Luc was somewhat surprised by Beverly's attitude.

Guinan only smiled. "Jean-Luc, you are marrying a very intelligent woman." She pulled out a padd and placed it on the bar directly in front of the love birds. "Now, let's get down to business. I know it's almost a cliché, but I suggest an arbor of ivory lace and peace roses for the wedding setting…"

Beverly hid her surprise at Guinan's choice. For she was planning on wearing an ombre tinted wedding gown in shades of white to ivory merging into pale pink at the hem. Which was the coloration of a peace rose.

"For dramatic contrast I was thinking of Betazoid Birds-of-Paradise for the centerpieces," Guinan mentioned. "The arboretum has quite a few at the moment. And they need to be pruned anyway."

"Always thinking of my ship. How thoughtful," Picard acerbically mentioned.

Guinan did not bother to tell him it wasn't his ship any more.

"You want anything specific, Johnny?" Guinan casually asked.

He thought for a moment, looked over at his bride-to-be, and softly mentioned, "I'm rather partial to pink or white lilacs," as a sudden remembrance crossed his mind.

"Impossible." Guinan dismissed this idea.

But Beverly remembered, too. It had been the spring of the year after Wesley had been born. Jack had gotten an unexpected leave and he'd come to New York where she'd been doing her last year of residency, in order to surprise her. Jean-Luc had come along too. And between the two men, they had filled Beverly's miniscule apartment with hundreds of lilacs - all in pink and white.

Jean-Luc had been there when Beverly entered the room, holding her baby. His eyes had seemed to burn into hers for a split second.

He thought that he'd never seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

And then he'd left Jack alone with his wife, trying so very hard not to be envious of his best friend.

She had dreamed of that look…

"Lilacs for the centerpieces - with the roses," Beverly firmly stated.

Guinan thought for a moment then eliminated the bird-of-paradise from her list.

"Pink and white lilacs it is." She didn't wish to intrude upon what was obviously a personal memory between the two of them.

Beverly trembled from her thoughts. Everything suddenly seemed so unreal to her, as she stood there, calmly discussing her wedding plans with Guinan.

"I know your favorite foods. And I'll send you the menu as soon as I check with your personal chef, Jean-Luc. It's about time I give him something to do."

Jean-Luc only nodded at Guinan's words for he had something more important to do at the moment, like hold Beverly's hand.

"By the way, I've already gotten both of you your wedding presents."

The affianced couple both froze in fear, then looked at Guinan with trepidation.

She pretended not to notice.

"I've picked two of my friends to be your personal assistants once you make it to San Francisco."

Picard harrumphed. "I prefer to make my own choice in this regard, Guinan."

"I know. You've been trying to get ahold of Krebbie for a while now. Once I contacted her, she agreed to come out of retirement. Again. For you."

Beverly actually felt Jean-Luc's sigh or relief. And his smile was broad at the thought of this woman.

"And as for you, Beverly, Krebbie's got a granddaughter named Laura…"

"Considering your reaction to 'Krebbie', should I be worried, Jean-Luc? Have I a rival?"

"No. No one can compete with Krebbie," he innocently answered.

"What does she have that I don't have?" Beverly tried not to sound jealous.

"She can put the fear of God in Winston Holt Wiley with merely a look," Jean-Luc explained, oblivious to Beverly's mood.

"Oh." Beverly didn't quite know what to say. Again.

"Her granddaughter takes after her. Laura's a doctor too, Red. If it doesn't work out between the two of you, let me know. I've got a lot more friends…"

"Thank you, Guinan," Jean-Luc sincerely said.

"You're welcome. Now, let's finish with the basics, and I'll take care of the details. And the seating chart. You don't need to worry your pretty little heads over that."

Jean-Luc was sensing something. But Beverly chuckled. And he was completely surprised when Beverly agreed to it.

"Do you really care where everyone sits, Jean-Luc?" Beverly innocently asked.

And he realized that he didn't. If an intergalactic war broke out because of the seating arrangements, well, he wouldn't be responsible for it…

After what seemed like an interminable time later, Guinan finally left them alone.

"You're not much for the formalities, are you, Jean-Luc?" Beverly softly teased. She'd seen his eyes glaze over several times when Guinan had been discussing choices of canapés.

"Au contraire, mon coeur. I do not particularly care for formal occasions, but as long as someone else makes the arrangements, I can usually tolerate them."

"You are just tolerating our wedding?"

By the quiet way in which she spoke, he suspected that he had just said the wrong thing.

"Actually, I am far more concerned about what will happen during our marriage."

Suddenly, Beverly's mood changed. "Nice save, Jean-Luc," she teased. "You were born to be a diplomat."

His stare was accusatory as he beheld her grinning face. "I remember. When we were on KesPrytt. You don't like pomp and circumstance, either."

"Well, I particularly like it when you wear your dress uniform, Jean-Luc. You look cute in it."

With the way that she then kissed him, Jean-Luc could accept being called 'cute' by his bride-to-be. Not in public, of course. But before the kisses progressed on toward something else, or before they were interrupted, Jean-Luc broke their kiss.

"Forgive me, Beverly?"

Beverly always liked the sound of an apologetic man. "For what?"

"For not giving you this." He stepped back, and guided her over to the viewport.

"The stars? How romantic."

He did his best not to glare at her. Then he fumbled about his hidden pocket to pull out a small box. He opened it. And removed the ring within, and placed it on her finger. He rather liked the stunned expression on her face. For it fit perfectly.

Jean-Luc didn't mention that it had taken Mr. Data and Geordi to scan Beverly's ring size and then figure out how to size up an antique ring without damaging the setting. For his granmere had been a tiny woman. Beverly was not.

"This ring have been in my family for several generations. I imagined it would suit you the first time I saw you. It was part of my granmere's engagement set. There's a matching necklace, earrings and bracelet. You already have the brooch."

He did not realize what he'd admitted about their first meeting.

And now was not the time to bring that up. She studied the sapphire, diamond and seed pearl ring for a moment on her hand. But it was the look in his eyes that mesmerized her.

"Jean-Luc, it's beautiful. Thank you. I will always treasure it." She'd discuss everything else with him, after they were safely married.

"Family legend has it that this ring can only be worn by the well-loved wives of the Picard men. And you do fulfill that requirement, Beverly."

"I'd better," she informed her commanding officer, as she proceeded to kiss him.

For a while, there was nothing more that needed to be said between them. Jean-Luc preferred actions over words when it came to matters of the heart, now. He kissed her with tenderness as well as with passion.

And when he was trembling in her embrace, he lifted his head and whispered into her ear, "Beverly my heart is in your keeping."

Her answering sigh was full of considerable pleasure over his choice of words.

"I will always take great care of your heart, Jean-Luc. As well as the rest of you. But right now, I can't… I've got to go to work." She nipped his ear. "My captain is a slave driver…"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"I stand relieved."

Admiral Jean-Luc Picard accepted Captain William Thomas Riker's handshake as he passed over his captain's eyes only padd.

But all he could think was: Merde. I am really leaving the Enterprise…

Admiral Picard tried not to be too stiff and awkward in his new admiral's dress uniform of a black shantung silk tunic and slacks with a long red suede overcoat.

Now, all Picard had to do was survive this event. For him, it was indeed an ordeal. He never found the change of command to be effortless, especially when it involved relinquishing a ship that had been his for so long a time.

Captain Riker stepped up to the podium, staring down into the packed lounge. Almost every person who was not on duty, was trying to cram into Ten-Forward.

"I'm not going to spend hours praising Jean-Luc Picard," Riker promised. "For what good would it do? We all know what its been like serving under this man's command. I consider these past seven years to have been the best seven years of my life. Thank you, Admiral. But since you are going…," Riker glanced down at his collar. Some, in the crowd, laughed. Deanna groaned. Riker continued, "I'll do my very best to write the 'Book of Riker', so that it will be worthy enough for your to read."

Surprisingly, Captain Riker then stepped away from the podium. The crowd was not used to such a short speech from this man, so they murmured their approval.

Picard stepped up to the podium, as Worf moved back. He knew that he had to say a few words, even though he did not want to particularly voice all of his feelings.

"I will miss this grand lady, this Enterprise. The thought of her will always be carried in my heart. May the fates continue to truly bless fools, little children and ships named 'Enterprise'." Hiding behind a polite smile, he slightly bowed with stiffened shoulders to his former Number One.

"Good luck, Number One. Captain William Thomas Riker." Picard spoke each syllable with proud emphasis. Then he leaned over and whispered into Will's ear, "Keep the Enterprise in one piece, if you please, Captain Riker."

"I will."

Picard then stepped down.

Literally and figuratively.

And the admiral coldly accepted the fact that he was now a Starfleet Admiral in fact as well in deed.

It was with a painful heart that Picard accepted the well-wishes of his former crew during the reception afterward. Part of Picard's soul was lost. Gone forever. And he was having difficulty grieving.

A long time later, Beverly approached him. She said not a word. But she hugged him, not caring who observed it. He needed her.


	17. GET THEM TO THE CHURCH ON TIME...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Well, it's almost time for the wedding. Of course, getting all the guests to SB 42 and the Enterprise was a big undertaking…

CHAPTER 17: Get Them to the Church on Time…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Are you sure that you know what you are doing?" Robert Picard glanced nervously about the cockpit, eyeing all of the blinking lights with growing suspicion and distrust. How could any one person much less a mere teenager, know what all of these lights meant?

Wesley sighed. It was not the first time he'd sighed during this trip. He'd been flying galaxy class starships since he was fourteen. Flying a simple runabout like an admiral's yacht was a piece of cake for him. But, that was before he'd encountered a backseat driver the likes of Robert Picard.

Wesley was rapidly reaching the point where he wished that he was back on board the Enterprise as a kid touching buttons on the bridge. At least Captain Picard had not questioned the pushing of every single button.

For what felt like the 147th time he answered, "I've done this before, Monsieur Picard. Everything's a-okay. Functioning properly." He glanced around and sent a commiserating glance toward Rene. "There are no unexplained noises, bumps or buzzing, either."

Wesley sounded like he was answering questions off of a list. Which, in a way, he was because Robert Picard had asked these questions too many times already.

Robert pointed at a blue light. "Why is that blinking?"

"Because it is supposed to blink," Wesley wearily replied.

Rene piped up, "That monitor indicates the functioning status of the atmosphere system, Papa. When it becomes a blinking red light, then there is a problem."

"Does that mean we are in danger?" his father quickly asked, envisioning a worst case scenario over everything. Robert had that sort of mind.

Rene shook his head. "No, Papa. It just indicates that there might be a problem. If it were to become a solid red light, then there probably is a problem."

Wesley turned his head in surprise to look at his new cousin. "Right, Rene." The he saw the growing terror on Monsieur Picard's face. "Sir, if the light does turn to solid red, then all I have to do is switch to the first backup system."

"There's only one backup system?" Robert croaked as he anxiously looked around for any space suit.

"There is a double redundancy system on this ship, Monsieur Picard. I've never heard of all three systems failing on any Starfleet vessel. Especially after I triple-checked all of the systems myself, before we took off." Robert was looked far from being reassured. Especially when Wesley added, "Failure only usually happens when I crash into a planet or something."

Wesley appreciated Robert's inability to speak for a few minutes. Then he saw the way that Rene was methodically studying his control panel. Wesley thought for a moment as he made a minor course adjustment, remembering the way that Captain Picard had handled his own precociousness.

"What do you know about this particular kind of craft, Rene?"

Rene gazed at his soon-to-be-new-cousin with a look akin to awe.

Marie patted Robert on his chest before he had a chance to interrupt, and whispered, "Let them be." She led her husband away from the cockpit and into the dining room are, and ordered up some sandwiches and coffee from the replicator.

Robert added two fingers of brandy to his coffee cup.

Meanwhile, Rene stepped forward and started listing the function of every control on the command panel. And for the first time, Wesley began to understand Captain Picard's point of view about children on the bridge.

"Something's beeping?" Robert screamed as he rushed back into the cockpit. "We're crashing!"

"Into what, Sir?" Wesley looked back at his step-uncle-to-be. The stars passed by for a while before Wesley explained, "That beeping monitor indicates that I've been at the controls too long, Monsieur Picard."

Robert nodded in nervous understanding. "Mon dieu! Who's going to fly the ship if you sleep! Are we going to stop flying? If we're dead in space then things could hit us…"

Wesley stood and stretched, seemed to think about it for a while, and then turned to look over at his new young friend.

"Rene, why don't you take over for me? I think you can fly this ship for a while. Everything's automatically set. If there's a problem, wake me. Computer, Rene Picard is now in command."

Rene could not believe it.

His father could barely contain himself, either. "What? Rene? Impossible!"

Wesley continued as if Robert had not said anything. "Wake me in six hours. We should be about eighteen hours from the starbase by then."

And with that, he left a speechless Robert, and an admiring Marie in his wake as he went into one of the guest cabins on the yacht.

Six hours later, Wesley returned to the cockpit, relieving a reluctant to leave but very ecstatic Rene. For six hours Rene had flown a starship. It was the most exciting moment of his life. And he was now loyal to his new cousin, forever. The stars were permanently entrenched in this youth's soul.

"Computer, returning control to Wesley Crusher," Rene proudly and formally stated.

Wesley understood. "Thank you, Mr. Picard."

"Merde! There are blinking red lights!" Robert yelled, ignoring the importance of this moment to his son. Robert's hatred for technology was the prevailing emotion at this minute. He never knew the depth of the damage that he could inflict upon his son.

"Don't concern yourself," was Wesley's calm response. "We've a long way to go before those red lights matter." And then he did his best to politely ignore Robert Picard.

Marie stepped over to her husband who was warily leaning over Wesley's left shoulder, peering at the lights as if they were his own personal hell-sent demons.

"Robert, I've fixed all of us a meal. Please , come and eat, and let this fine young man do what it is that he is supposed to do."

She clamped her right hand down upon her husband's shoulder, and would not permit him to do anything else but to come along, nicely.

Wesley sent Marie a grateful look, glad that at least one adult member of the Picard family was level-headed. There were times when Wesley found it difficult to believe that Robert was Jean-Luc's brother. One of them must have been dropped on their head when they were a baby.

Hours later, after the twenty-second time Wesley was reminded about a new set of blinking red lights, he patiently explained, "Those are perimeter monitors. We're approaching the Starbase, Monsieur Picard."

"At last!" Robert exclaimed, dropping to his knees in thankful prayer.

Wesley looked over at him, not quite believing the man's reaction to his piloting.

"Of course, I haven't docked a runabout in a long time. I hope that I don't hit anything when I pilot us in," Wesley casually commented.

"And to think that my brother was foolish enough to entrust you with the piloting of his ship!"" Robert caustically answered.

Surprised by this remark, Wesley glanced over at the man. And for a moment, the man looked like Captain Picard's brother.

"I never crashed the Enterprise, Sir. And I was her pilot for two hundred and twenty-two duty shifts. I won't crash this ship either."

It wasn't until he thought that he saw a slight smile crack across the elder Picard's lips that Wesley wondered if the man might not have been teasing him. Wesley considered this possibility. He came to the conclusion that anyone who could marry and keep a woman like Marie had to have hidden depths. A trait which both Picard men seemed to have.

A few minutes later, Wesley safely docked the yacht with nary a scratch to its couplings. Wesley was relieved that the ride was over. Robert Picard had taught him a new definition of purgatory after traveling for fifty hours with the man as a back seat driver. He was relieved to see his passengers disembark onto the starbase.

He was grinning as he saw Admiral Picard's grimace as his brother embraced him whilst loudly announcing to all who would listen, something about making it to his wedding.

And Wesley vowed to ask his mom to consider sedating Robert Picard before he began the voyage back to Earth.

Upon leaving the runabout, Marie patted Wesley's chest and quietly stated with understanding sympathy, "You're a true gentleman, Mr. Crusher."

Startled, he appreciated the compliment, glad that this lady did understand what a trial her husband could be at times.

Wesley smiled as he saw the genuine affection with which Jean-Luc Picard greeted Marie Picard and Rene.

And then he was being bear-hugged by his mother within an inch of his life…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"And this is the observation lounge… Uncle…" Picard waved his hand about the room. "You can see the stars best from here."

Rene's gaze was starry-wide-eyed as he stared about the room. He went to the head of the glass and wood table.

"Nephew, is this your chair?"

"It was," Picard admitted.

"Magnifique."

"Wait until you see the chair on the bridge, young man."

And it was with quiet pleasure and pride, that Picard continued to show his nephew about the Enterprise.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"He's going to be my what at the Academy?"

Wesley loved seeing his mother in person, but he did not love hearing her news. He stomped about his mother's quarters with an agitated pace, not liking her news at all.

The door to his mother's quarters chirped.

Jean-Luc Picard entered the room carrying a bottle of champagne, and branches of Belle de Nancy pink lilacs and Madame Lemoine white lilacs.

He put down the bottle, bowed before Beverly, kissed her hand and then handed the lady the lilacs. "Look what Guinan found."

"I suspect we shouldn't ask her how she got them," Beverly replied as she took deep breaths of their heady perfume, even as Jean-Luc stood and came by her to kiss her cheek.

Then he went over to Wesley and extended his hand. Wesley shook it.

"Wesley, it is good to see you."

Wesley warily studied the man's expression, and realized that Jean-Luc Picard was telling the truth.

"Mom was telling me your news. Her news. I guess I…" Wesley did not know what else to say.

Picard was a discerning man and readily guessed as Wesley's source of obvious discomfort.

'You don't have to live with us cadet, though you will always have your own room should you wish to visit. But if you think that having your step-father as superintendent is going to get you any special favors…"

Wesley actually interrupted Jean-Luc. "That's just it, Sir. I know better. But the other cadets - most don't. They barely talk to me now. Once they find out about you, the only ones left who'll talk to me will be you, my Mom, Boothby and my professors."

"You'll live through it, Wesley. You can expect to face far worse when you are posted to the Enterprise." Picard was quite serious. His expression conveyed this to Wesley.

Beverly was about to offer some words of comfort but Picard silenced her with a warning glance.

"Yes, Sir." Wesley tried to sound like he was accepting it.

"We'll have to do something about that," Picard commented, the casualness of his words belied by the determination behind his voice. Picard placed down the champagne bottle down on a table and expertly opened it with nary a drop overflowing.

Beverly went and got two flutes, not realizing that he was referencing more than the wine.

"A third glass, if you please, Beverly."

Startled by this request, Beverly nabbed a third flute.

Picard ably poured, then gave a glass to Beverly with a reassuring look.

When Picard handed Wesley a flute of champagne, Wesley was even more astonished. Before he could even say anything, Picard added, "You're old enough - by French standards."

Wesley then realized that the admiral was intending for this to be something more than just a toast.

"I may be a Starfleet Admiral now, but still, there are some of my family traditions that I choose to observe. In my family, when a man wishes to marry, he asks permission of the lady's family. So, Mr. Crusher, will you give your blessing upon my marriage to your Mother?"

Wesley looked at his Mom. "Is this what you want, Mom?"

"Yes, Wesley."

He looked back at Picard. "Will you get married without it?"

Beverly nervously glanced over at her fiancée praying that this wasn't the start of another problem to their marriage, but he was composed, reserved and anticipating Wesley's response.

"And what is your opinion of my character, Mr. Crusher?"

Wesley needed only to look upon his mother's face to know his answer. "To Jean-Luc Picard and my mother, Beverly Howard Crusher - many years of happiness." He raised up his flute towards their glasses. "Omnia vincit amor."

"You did take that course in Latin that I suggested," Picard stated, very relieved now that the largest hurdle to the marriage was overcome.

Glasses clinked together. They made a pretty, bell like sound.

"Good luck, Mom, Cap…, er, Admiral…, er, Admirals…"

Wesley brightly smiled, knowing that he would have to get used to this new situation, regardless of how strange it seemed. It was, after all, what he had always wanted to have happen. "I give you my blessing."

"About that, Wesley," Picard casually remarked, sensing more about the boy than Wesley anxiously realized.

"About what, Sir?"

"Your referring to me as 'Sir'." He sipped a bit of his champagne as he waited for Wesley to follow his train of thought. "Certainly when you are at the Academy, or on duty, it is proper for you to address me by rank and title, as befitting my being your superior officer. However, when we are en famille, you may call me Jean-Luc, if you wish."

For a moment, Wesley was afraid to look at the man, convinced that he couldn't really be hearing correctly, the Admiral's words. Wesley took refuge in the act of sipping his champagne, and by the taste of it suddenly identified the liquid as something that was not synthehol. "This is good wine, that is, uh, champagne…" He took a steadying, deep breath, another gulp of wine and then said it, "Jean-Luc…"

"Thank Robert. He brought several cases with him for the wedding party," Picard commented. "Not as memorable as the '37," he murmured to Beverly, implying something more, "But nevertheless, a respectable vintage."

She silently acknowledged his meaning, glad for the growing companionship between them.

"I will, Jean-Luc," Wesley answered, trying out using the admiral's first name again. He might eventually become comfortable saying it.

Jean-Luc tore himself away from being captivated by Beverly's deep blue eyes and their pledges of mysteries yet to be uncovered. "Thank you, Wesley." Picard drank some more. "How was your trip here?" Implied but not specifically voiced, was the question about Wesley's flight privileges.

"Admiral Brand waived the restrictions for this trip thanks to Admiral Nakamura. He's coming to your wedding, by the way. And from what I was given to understand, he's bringing some of your friends."

Picard inwardly groaned knowing that one of Nakamura's 'friends' would be Winston Holt Wiley.

"And how was traveling with my brother?" This Picard asked with more than a touch of curiosity. His brother had never been a particularly good passenger even on board Earth's local transportation.

"Are you sure he's your brother?" Wesley blurted out. "He's never willingly left France, has he? I don't think that he likes space flight very much."

This statement told Jean-Luc almost everything about Wesley's trip. The cadet had most certainly been punished during the journey.

"Yes, he is my brother, though I won't disagree with you if you think that one of us is a changeling. It was a question often asked at family gatherings. I'm glad that you managed to outlast his commentaries. I've flown with Robert in the past. Somehow, he still is alive. Congratulations on retaining your sanity, your temper and dampening down any murderous inclinations."

Wesley accepted these words. There wasn't any polite way of discussing some of Robert Picard's personality traits with Jean-Luc Picard. But his soon-to-be-new-aunt by marriage he could voluntarily talk about. "Marie's a great lady, Jean-Luc. And she's a fantastic cook, too."

"You visited my home?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc. You should have seen Monsieur Robert's face when I landed the yacht in the front courtyard. I was only three meters away from the wrought iron fencing."

"Robert turned red." Picard knew his brother rather well.

"Yes. And then, when I introduced him to the two agricultural students that I'd snared to run the vineyard while he was gone…"

"He permitted strangers to work in his vineyard, never mind that they would be touching his beloved vines. Imagine that. He really must have wanted to come to my wedding," Picard drolly remarked, rather enjoying imagining his brother's responses.

Beverly spoke up, focusing on what Wesley had just said. "Wes, you have friends that would help you out? Fellow cadets?" Perhaps things weren't as awful at the Academy as she had feared.

"I had to bribe them, Mom. Tutor both of them in nanite technology, and promise them bottles of French wine."

His words were sobering. Jean-Luc placed his hand upon Wesley's shoulder, offering support. "Wes, this time will pass. And you will be a better man because of it. That, I promise you."

"Yeah, right."

Picard was somewhat troubled by the tone of Wesley's response. He was going to question the boy further, as some future time.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Captain Riker."

"Yes, Admiral Crusher?"

"If you keep calling me that you might end up demoted."

"What should I call you? Beverly?"

The lady glanced about the ready room. All traces of Jean-Luc had been removed - except for the lionfish, and the Collected Works of Shakespeare. She walked over to the aquarium and tapped the glass. As always, Livingstone ignored her.

"Jean-Luc gave me the Shakespeare."

"Yes, he'd mentioned that to me."

"I think he's hoping that I'll read something more edifying than Jack London and Zane Grey."

"Will, you and I both know that you're somewhat of a Shakespeare aficionado. Why did you never let Jean-Luc know this?"

"Well, when I'd drop an off quote here or there, it was fun watching him trying to decide if I knew what I was quoting, or was just quoting something from memory."

"In short, you enjoyed bedeviling the man, too."

"Hey, I may have understood why he did to me what he did to me when we first met. But it took me years before I could figure out subtle ways to get my own back against the man for making me do a manual docking."

Beverly laughed.

"So what can I do you for, Beverly?"

"I just need to know where Jean-Luc is. The computer says he's off the ship."

"And you think I should know?"

"He said something about a bachelor dinner."

"Not me, Beverly." Will bapped his comm badge. "Mr. Data, please come to the ready room."

A few seconds later, Mr. Data showed up. He nodded at both officers.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Where's Jean-Luc?" Beverly quickly asked.

"I shall check." Data walked over to the desk terminal. Will nodded, so Data sat down, and quickly started entering some data. "Before the admiral left for his dinner, he had me implant a subcutaneous transponder and monitor in his forearm."

"For what purpose?" Beverly was very puzzled.

"To locate him in case someone tries to remove the admiral from our vicinity. And to monitor his blood alcohol levels. He will automatically beam back to the Enterprise once his limit of 1.0 is reached."

Will was confused. "I don't understand, Mr. Data. Why would Jean-Luc take these precautions?"

Beverly suddenly laughed. "Woody Nakamura. That's why he is taking precautions. Jean-Luc was remembering what he did to Woody. And to Jack…" Her voice trailed off.

"Meaning?"

"Our fearless leader doesn't want to find himself drunk and naked on an unknown planet, far, far away from here," Beverly explained.

"I've got a feeling that there are a few stories that Jean-Luc has never told me," Will mused.

"Feel free to ask him. And then tell me. I never did get all the details of Jack's bachelor party."

"I am beaming Admiral Picard over from the Starbase, Captain. Transporter Room Three."

"I'd better go resuscitate him," Beverly advised Will, as she left the room.

"How drunk was he?"

"Admiral Picard was not drunk at all. But his heart beat and blood pressure readings were extremely high." Data nodded, "I am assuming that this is a side effect of dining with Admiral Winston Holt Wiley, Admiral Alynna Nechayev, Admiral Woody Nakamura, Robert Picard and Lwaxana Troi."

Somehow, Will Riker was not that surprised that Lwaxana had crashed both the wedding and the bachelor party. He decided that he'd warn Deanna, if she didn't already know that her mother was on the space station.

"I think it's going to be a very interesting wedding, Mr. Data."

"I concur."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Mother, what are you doing here?"

"Why, I'm attending a wedding, Little One."

"You weren't invited."

"Details. Jean-Luc forgetting to invite me was just a simple oversight."

"Admiral Picard didn't invite a lot of people, Mother. This wedding is supposed to be a dignified, small ceremony. That's what Beverly wanted."

"No, that's what Jean-Luc wanted. What Beverly really wants is to kick up her heels and dance. A lot. And shout out her victory to the universe…"

"Vic-tory? Really, Mother…"

"Why shouldn't she do a victory dance, Little One? She's won!

"Jean-Luc Picard is not a prize, Mother."

"Trust me, Little one. He is. I wouldn't have chased after him if he weren't."

"Mother!"

"Besides, I've noticed a few souls that will need consoling once Beverly is off the market. One of them is an admiral. And who better than me to console them all?"

"Mother!"

"What?"

"An 'admiral'?"

"What, Little One?"

"Are you going to tell me who it is, or do I have to guess."

"You really should practice your mind-reading more. It's not as if you can't do it. And as for who it is that loved Beverly from afar, well, watch who I may permit to dance with me during the reception…"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"What the devil?" was the first thing Jean-Luc Picard muttered when he stepped inside of Holosuite Four. He had ordered up his usual exercise routine.

He had some cobwebs to clear from his brain after his bachelor dinner with the admirals. He'd enjoyed parts of it. Especially when Alynna Nechayev had confounded Holt by appearing to be genuinely pleased over Picard joining the admiralty and Riker getting the Enterprise. Much to Picard's surprise, when Alynna was in a good mood, she was excellent company. He'd never quite forgive her for Celtris III, but Jean-Luc was willing to admit that she wasn't quite as bad as he once had believed.

So instead of the Royal Fencing masters' courtyard at Versailles, he found himself standing in the middle of a dank, steamy jungle.

"Computer, cease programming," he ordered.

Nothing happened.

"Merde. Another bloody holodeck malfunction," he cursed as he mentally consigned certain holodeck engineers to perdition.

A voice broke through the ominous background noises of the jungle.

"Cap… er, Admiral, is there a problem?"

Picard turned around, acutely aware that his courtiers' billowing sleeved white shirt and black pants were not appropriate to the present atmosphere.

"The holoprogram is malfunctioning."

Worf put down his bat'leth on a rock outcropping and then ordered, "Computer, pause programming."

The program froze.

Picard spoke up. "Computer, why did you obey Commander Worf's command, but not my own?"

"Worf, Lt. Commander. Fourth in command on board the U.S.S. Enterprise," came back the dry, unemotional vocal response of the computer.

"And Admiral Picard?" Worf quickly asked as he got a sinking feeling about the computer's answer. The Admiral would not care for it.

"Jean-Luc Picard. Rear-Admiral, Starfleet Command. On board status: Honored guest."

"So of course," Jean-Luc whispered, nodding his head in understanding, "by ship's standards, Commander Worf's order would supersede my own when it came to ship's functions since he is an officer and I am only a guest on board the Enterprise."

Worf hastily blurted out, "Admiral, I can alter the program. There is no need…"

Picard walked over to the rocks and picked up the bat'leth. "Commander, What is Captain Riker's practice level when he joins you in this exercise program?"

"Second level."

Picard studied Worf for a moment, taking note of his clean Klingon battle garb and gleaming blade to the weapon. The Klingon had obviously just started his workout since his blade wasn't bloody.

"May I join you, Mr. Worf? I always have been interested in seeing your routine."

Looking off into the jungle as if seeing confirmation from another source, Worf grunted, "Of course, Sir. Computer. Level two. Create a bat'leth suitable for Admiral Picard."

Picard picked up his new weapon, hefted it about, surprised Worf with several of his next practice moves traditional to the warm-up, and then pronounced it acceptable.

"Now what, Mr. Worf?"

Worf took off down a path, indicating that Picard should follow him.

"You shall be on my team," Worf announced.

Picard batted aside some stinging brown nettle branches.

"Your team, Mr. Worf?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc. Against me. That is, us."

Picard whirled and saw Will Riker indolently leaning up against a tree. The captain of the Enterprise was only wearing a pair of well-worn leather pants and two leather bands criss-crossing his naked chest like bandoleers decorated with four daggers and Klingon flying stars.

"What are you doing here, Will?"

"Well, since you wouldn't let me throw you the kind of raucous, rowdy bachelor party that you deserve, and since I am not quite foolish enough to crash an 'admiral's only' dinner, I thought that I'd give you an alternative."

"At what?"

The admiral was wary for Will was displaying too many teeth. He glared over at Worf. "This meeting was pre-arranged?"

"Admiral Picard," Mr. Data announced from behind the admiral's back, "I coordinated it."

But it was Riker who butted in to explain, "I know that you were secretly yearning for me to do something truly tasteless to commemorate your marriage to Beverly. Now, what could be more tasteless than having to battle your former first officer for the honor of the Enterprise? Let's have a good, old-fashioned, time-honored Klingon ritual of transition."

"A fight to the death?" a curious Picard asked. "I was under the impression that most Klingon promotions were through assassination."

"We could try that if you'd like, Jean-Luc," Will agreed, entertained by the thought.

Data piped up. "That would not be acceptable according to Starfleet regulations, Captain Riker…"

Riker shook his head, glaring at the android.

Data tried another tack. "Would you not care to bash Captain Riker's head into sanguineous minute pieces, Admiral Picard?" Data paused in his speech as if he'd just had another idea. "I would not mind undertaking such an objective myself, Sir. I have always been inquisitive about the…"

Picard sternly glared at all of them. Data recognized the admiral's patent look of disfavor and ceased talking.

"Computer, freeze program." This time, it froze. Then Picard tromped over to the android standing beside Will Riker who was still displaying a somewhat stunned expression over Data's interest in bashing in his captain's head.

"Captain Riker, are you trying to tell me that you want to play a juvenile game of King of the Hill with me?"

"Yes, Sir!" Riker smartly replied.

Picard faced Mr. Data. "Am I appalled at your behavior, Mr. Data." With that, he reached around Mr. Data's waist and quickly flipped the 'off' switch on the android.

And then, with unexpected speed, he kicked a dumbfounded Will Riker's feet right out from underneath him. Picard watched with great pleasure as his former Exec landed on his ass with an oomph, plopping onto the stinking, mucky swamp floor. With his bat'leth blade edge pointing directly at Will's Adam's apple, Picard asked with a considerable sense of satisfaction, "Round one to me, Captain?"

"Aye, Admiral," Worf cheerily agreed - for a Klingon. He was pleased with his partner's tactics. This was going to be a most interesting exercise.

Then Picard joined his confederate who was grinning in fierce Klingon anticipation of the hours to come. This Klingon was fancying a good fight.

Riker cautiously rose up from the ground, turned Data back on, then faced Picard, shaking his head in admiration at the man's audacity before he quickly pivoted, swinging his weapon directly at Picard's stomach.

The admiral felt compelled to ask as he blocked the blade, "Worf, how do you know when the program is over?"

"Why when their blood runs, Admiral. Or ours."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

At 1203 hours, Dr. Beverly Crusher was notified that Admiral Picard, Captain Riker and Commander Worf had been admitted to sickbay for treatment of numerous, minor injuries.

Dr. Crusher informed Dr. Selar that since it was now, technically her wedding day, and since it was an old Earth custom not to see the groom before the wedding that Admiral Picard and company would have to stew in their own juices in answer to their foolhardiness. Dr. Selar would just have to patch them up if the Vulcaness were so inclined.

Beverly did not want to know what they'd been doing. But after she learned about Data needing to be fixed by Geordi, she would later on, strong-arm the story out of Will.

"Men!" was her final curse on the subject of bachelor parties.


	18. IT'S DELIGHTFUL TO BE MARRIED...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: I've done other marriage scenes before in my TNG writings. But I'd like to think that this one is the most fun…

CHAPTER 18: It's Delightful to be Married…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Technically, Admiral Jean-Luc Picard and Admiral Beverly Howard Crusher were not being married in a church. Or even a chapel.

But against the panorama of stars that was their backdrop, no one in attendance at the wedding held in Ten-Forward, would ever doubt the sacredness of the ceremony.

"Since the days of the first wooden sailing ships, all captains have enjoyed the happy privilege…" Riker recited, appearing to be extremely delighted that he was marrying one friend to the other. And that it wasn't his own wedding.

Captain Riker finally came to the important part.

"Do you Beverly, take Jean-Luc as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and obey, from this day forward …"

Jean-Luc froze, concerned about his bride's response, even as he noted the decidedly wicked grin on Will's face. He looked at his bride expecting to see her notorious temper displayed on her countenance. But all she was doing was beaming, her eyes shining, looking only at him with love. She was ignoring Will's words.

"I do," was her sweetly said giddy reply, even as she made note of the sinful gleam in Will's baby blues. Will had made a fatal error. He'd forgotten that payback is a bitch…named Beverly…

"And do you, Jean-Luc, take Beverly as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and obey, from this day forward…"

Jean-Luc really wasn't paying much attention though, to Will's words. He was solely concentrating on thinking of his own response. But when the time came, he remembered his line.

"I do."

It was a simple reply.

It was a life-changing response.

And Picard felt rather relieved that he'd said it at the correct moment. He nodded to Riker to continue.

Several people in the crowded lounge laughed as they caught the words that Will Riker had inserted in the vows for both of his friends getting married.

Then Rene Picard stepped forward, holding a lacy pillow bearing the rings. He handed one to his uncle.

Will continued. To both of them, he said, "Jean-Luc, please repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed…"

"With this ring, I thee wed…" And he slipped the narrow platinum band on Beverly's finger, followed by the engagement ring.

Will had not been surprised that Jean-Luc and Beverly had picked the more archaic form of the wedding vows. He certainly had not been surprised that neither one of them had wanted to write their own vows, though he was wondering about the lack of a quote from Shakespeare. But it was the expressions on their faces that did surprise him. They were in love; deeply, truly, and really in love…

Rene presented the final ring to Beverly. She picked it up.

"Beverly, please repeat after me, With this ring, I thee wed…"

"With this ring, I thee wed…" And she slid the wider platinum band on her husband's ring finger.

In a time where it was difficult to find married Terran couples who even exchanged rings, those who knew them were touched and not overly surprised that Jean-Luc and Beverly had opted for such a traditional wedding ceremony.

Robert was beaming proudly.

"And so, with the power invested in me as the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, it is with immense pride and great joy that I hereby pronounce you husband and wife."

Captain Riker waited until the spontaneous clapping slowed a bit before he got around to ordering, "Kiss her, Jean-Luc."

The groom bent forward slightly and placed a cool, chaste kiss on the lips of his bride. He imagined that he could perceive Captain Riker's nod of acceptance over the predictability of his reserved, dignified action. He could see the puzzlement in Beverly's eyes, and could hear her slightly disappointed sigh as he moved his lips away from hers. She would not publicly admit that she was dissatisfied by his lack of officially displaying any emotion in their union.

That is, until she caught the glint of devilment in his eyes.

And then the former captain revealed that he was a true Frenchman at heart. This next kiss between the newly married couple stunned the audience - not to mention the bride. Or the man who had married them. For this notoriously reserved and stately man pulled his bride into his arms, held her extremely close, bent her backwards and proceeded to kiss her as if they were without an audience; kissing her with a heart-palpitating, demonstrative passion. The lady felt like swooning which was something that she'd never done before in her life…

When they finally stood upright, there was an audible sigh from mainly the female guests. Few had ever suspected that Jean-Luc Picard was such a romantic man.

They sighed even more when he brought Beverly's left hand up to his lips and then pressed a soft kiss against the rings on her finger.

"Je t'aime." 

Only Beverly heard these words from his lips. Her eyes glistened with emotion. So did his when he lifted his head up to smile at her.

And then he lifted their entwined hands upwards, as if to salute the stars - and the ship.

Will Riker announced, "I give you Jean-Luc Picard and, er, Beverly Howard Crusher Picard." Will spoke quickly, hoping that he'd said Beverly's full name correctly.

Eventually the clapping and the huzzahs died down.

Arm-in-arm they stood by Will Riker under an arbor of roses and lilacs. Many floating candles in crystal star form holders hovered about them.

"Thank you for witnessing our wedding," Jean-Luc Picard stated with great gladness.

"And thank you for coming," Beverly added, for it was not in her nature to ever play the shy bride.

Will then picked up his padd, affixed his thumbprint to the official marriage document, and then waited as Jean-Luc and Beverly did the same, followed by their witnesses, Wesley and Marie.

They stood on the dais for the obligatory vids and photos with their wedding party consisting or Robert, Marie, Rene, Guinan, Wesley and Deanna.

Jean-Luc glanced over at his best man, Robert, who was beaming at him with a silly, big brother has got you by the short hairs forever grin. Picard mentally sighed and then considered the thought that he would be indebted to his brother when it came to the matter of marriages for the rest of their lives. And other than divorcing Beverly, there was nothing much that he could do about it. He would have to just live with certain unwise decisions from his past.

And then Picard glanced over at Wesley who had escorted his mother down the rose petal strewn aisle, and observed that he had a big, Cheshire-cat type grin plastered all over his face. Any doubts that Jean-Luc might have had about Wesley had vanished when it had become obvious to everyone that his stepson - no, son - had most heartily approved of their marriage.

Over the course of a few semesters, it seemed the young boy had grown up into a man. Wearing his red and black cadet dress uniform, the last time Wesley had look so much like an officer was when he had been granted a field promotion to ensign after Deanna and Will had been guests of DaiMon Tog. Picard regarded the cadet, wondering at what point when did the lad become a man? He was somewhat sad that he had missed it.

Next, his eyes settled on Deanna Troi who had been their maid of honor. She was wearing a fascinating, gravity-defying chiffon dress in a dark rose pink, with a flower bandeau in her ebony curls matching the floral color scheme.

Deanna just gazed at her former captain, serenely. She sensed what he was feeling at the moment. And she was both happy and pleased for him - and them.

The matron of honor, Marie, was dressed in a similar flowing long rose colored gown though her décolletage was considerably more decorous than Deanna's version. Her expression was one of sheer happiness.

Though both ladies had a certain look about them, as if each felt responsible in some way, for there even being a wedding.

There was a gentle touch on his arm. And Jean-Luc Picard looked into the eyes of his love. She was beautiful. And in his mind's eye, he would ever see her, thusly.

He examined his bride with a lover's eye. He could tell by the way Guinan had been grinding her teeth that Beverly had changed her wedding dress at the last minute, unbeknownst to Guinan. He was not that surprised that Beverly had not cared for Guinan's earlier anticipation of her gown. Beverly would always follow her own star. Still, Beverly's choice was becoming.

Beverly's dress had a soft rose silk lace sleeveless sheath bodice which revealed her lovely bare shoulders. Draped about her arms was a long pink silk shawl. There was a long tutu style skirt which consisted of layers of pink to ivory silk chiffon and organza highlighted by an occasional crystal, here and there. It was a dress meant for dancing.

He did not doubt that his bride intended to dance at least some of the night away. And he would happily oblige her, for Beverly's wish would forever be his command…

She was also wearing his granmere's sapphire pin and drop earrings.

She took his breath away…

And Jean-Luc Picard didn't even notice all the sideways glances and smiles as his friends began to discover just how much in love with Beverly he was, for he had hid his love too well during the lonely, cold decades.

Riker cleared his throat.

Picard then considered the captain of the Enterprise in his dress uniform. There were times when Will Riker's grin seemed to resemble the countenance of a cat who had just eaten the proverbial canary. The way he was now regarding Jean-Luc and Beverly, was one of those times.

Picard leaned closer to Riker. "Thank you for officiating, Will."

"Any time, Jean-Luc. Happy to do it. Any time. Better you than me, Sir."

Picard didn't need to say a word since it was obvious that Deanna had overheard Will's last statement. Picard's smile broadened, confidant that Will would pay for his words sooner or later. The look in Deanna's eye promised it.

Beverly was still sweetly smiling in Will's direction too. Picard did not doubt that the possibility of Deanna and Beverly joining forces to wreak revenge against Will Riker had just increased greatly. He was supremely glad that he was not in Will's shoes at the moment.

Beverly's hand rested on his shoulder, smoothing away an invisible wrinkle to the ruby fabric.

"Jean-Luc, Guinan wants us." She moved to join the unofficial mistress of ceremonies, guiding her husband by tugging on his hand.

"For what?" he grumbled under his breath.

"Your favorite part," Guinan grumbled back, as she led them out the door into the turbolift, and then toward the Holodeck that had been set up for their wedding party.

"The receiving line," Guinan informed her friend. Her smile broadened as she watched him realize what he was now about to endure. A great many people had attended the wedding. He'd be standing there with Beverly by his side, for a while.

"Cheer up, my love," Beverly whispered as they entered the holodeck banquet hall. "You will only have to do this once."

Picard stiffened. Not that he was about to give voice to his displeasure of having to stand in a receiving line. He wasn't that much of a fool. Or was he? For a second he froze at the entrance to the holodeck and realized that this act of marriage was not something to merely get through. It was something to be enjoyed. He was now married to the most beautiful, the most perfect for him woman in the universe. And only a fool would not be rejoicing and enjoying and anticipating the evening to come.

The smile on his lips became genuine as he inspected the hall that their friends had prepared.

The holodeck was all crystal and sparkling candle flames. Thousands of floating candles hovered about above the tables and dance floor. There was a long dais table set for the wedding party with a continuous garland of lilacs and roses, set against the front edge of the table. Low, lit candles mounted in crystal candlesticks were interspersed midst the flowers. The overhead and the backdrop to the entire room was nothing but holographic stars.

Once again, Mr. Data positioned the newly-wedded couple with Guinan, to take a few more official images of the wedding. Lieutenant Barclay had arranged the video cameras to record every moment, but Mr. Data thought that they should have photographs as well.

It was with great amusement that Beverly watched their receiving line form. She lightly elbowed her spouse in the ribs to draw his attention to the confrontation forming in front of them. For Lwaxana Troi and Admiral Winston Holt Wiley both wanted to be the first in line to greet the newly married couple.

"My money's on Lwaxana," Beverly whispered into her husband's ear.

The discussion between the ambassadress and the admiral was getting louder - and more personal.

Sighing mightily, Beverly grabbed her husband's arm and pushed him in Lwaxana's direction. She then moved out of the receiving line position, and stepped boldly in front of Admiral Winston Holt Wiley's face. The fact that her bosom was at the admiral's eye level, was an added incentive for the man to pay attention to her.

"Thank you so much for coming, Admiral Wiley," she pleasantly stated, kissing his cheek, and then dragging him by his arm away from her husband and Lwaxana.

"What?"

Beverly was guiding the admiral towards Guinan, who when seeing this, suddenly disappeared. Beverly grimaced. And then she changed her course, this time cornering Mr. Data.

"Mr. Data," she airily breathed, "please escort Admiral Wiley to his table."

"I order you to dance with me later on," Wiley stated, as Mr. Data firmly grasped the admiral's arm to lead him away from the bride.

"Of course," Beverly agreed, and she eyed her husband to see if he needed rescuing from Mrs. Troi.

Mr. Data returned and whispered, "Admiral Wiley is safely seated on the dais."

"Thank you Mr. Data," Beverly pleasantly said as finally the reception line began to move - after Lwaxana decided to stand on the other side of her husband, and greet people as if she were the mother of the bride.

With a smile still plastered on her face, Beverly looked for Deanna.

Jean-Luc leaned over and whispered, "Lwaxana says that she is practicing…"

Beverly wondered how Deanna was going to take the news that her mother was practicing.

Data joined them and began to efficiently arrange the line of guests so that all were greeted properly by the newly-married couple.

As they were still greeting guests, Deanna joined them. There was a smile on her lips that Jean-Luc found somewhat disconcerting.

"What?" Beverly whispered to Deanna.

"I changed the seating arrangement," Deanna confessed.

"What?"

"I placed Will in the eighth circle of hell." She glanced toward the main table. "I put him between Lwaxana and Holt at this end." She snorted. "If he can survive that, I'll think about forgiving him for what he said about marriage."

Beverly could not prevent the loud laugh that escaped her lips. "Oh, tell Reg to be sure that there's a recording of that seating!"

"Beverly, love…"

Deanna could tell that Jean-Luc was just delighted to say that two-word combination out loud and in public. And that he had the right to do so, now.

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"What do you ladies find to be so humorous?"

To Picard, the smiles that both ladies bestowed upon him seemed to be tinged with glee.

"Deanna seated Will between Holt and Lwaxana."

Picard gulped. Then thought for a second. If an intergalactic war did break out because of the seating… And then he grinned. It was no longer his problem. Will's ship. Will's problem…

"I'll alert security."

For the first time, Jean-Luc began to grasp just how many people were in attendance of their nuptials - far beyond in number of the official invitations that they'd sent by subspace. After what seemed like shaking hands with hundreds of people, it was Woody Nakamura's turn to greet the married couple. He was at the end of the line.

Woody wished them well, heartily clapping Jean-Luc on the back, before exerting his admiral's privilege by kissing Beverly soundly. Then he leaved over and whispered something to Beverly. Jean-Luc observed his bride wince with something that looked like pain. Then he heard her say that she would take his counsel under advisement.

Jean-Luc panicked for a micro-second. There were certain incidents from his past that he would prefer Beverly not to learn about. At least, not from Woody. Ignoring for a moment the people pressing around them, he inclined his head close to Beverly's ear and asked, "What did Woody say to you?"

"I think that the admiral is enjoying our marriage too much. He said something about you, an Orion love potion…"

"And a keg of wine." Picard finished the sentence for his bridge. "I see Woody has decided to solely blame me for that incident. In spite of the fact that he was the senior officer who brought along the wine and the tribble that started the brawl in the first place."

"What does this have to do with what I'm supposed to remind you of doing on our wedding night?" Then Beverly remembered something. Something from long ago that had to do with tribbles and court-martials. "Jack!"

Picard blindly smiled at the crowd of people that were mashing against them, entering the holodeck. Skillfully guiding Beverly out of the holodeck, he shoved her into the first storage locker that he found.

What astounded him was that Guinan entered the storage locker too. Behind them.

"Out!" he ordered.

"Beverly spent hours getting ready. You're not going to muss her up until much later - not if I can help it!" Guinan retorted. "If you brought her in here just to kiss her, it had better be a short one."

"Jack and the tribble."

That shut Guinan up for a moment.

"Woody!" Guinan cursed, seeing the accuracy of her guess confirmed on Picard's face. "That man has been waiting for years, just for this moment!" She twitched. "Damn. I knew I should have slipped him a mickey during the reception before the ceremony."

Beverly was tired of the two of them talking as if she wasn't in the locker too. She grabbed her husband's shoulders and spun him around. "TALK!" she commanded.

"Did Jack ever tell you how we met?"

"Something to do with Klingons breeding tribbles," Beverly quickly answered as certain events came back to her. "You saved Jack's life." Suddenly she was embracing him, kissing him with a determined sense of purpose.

"What was that for?" Jean-Luc gasped when she finally let him breathe.

"I remembered Jack's version of the story."

"You don't know all the details…"

Beverly interrupted him. "I don't care what you did with that Orion love potion, or with whom you did it. That is all in the past, right?"

Picard wisely nodded in agreement.

"So you can demonstrate the rest later, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Beverly." He was about to return her kisses when someone cackled behind his back. He swung around and glared.

"You'll do, Beverly Howard Crusher Picard," Guinan announced. "You're training your husband right and proper." She stepped back so that the locker door slid open "Now, you'd better come with me to your wedding party before I suggest to Woody, Robert and Mr. Data to start up an old French custom - the charivari."

"It is an old French custom," Picard groaned. On his bride's questioning look he explained, "Better known as a shivaree…"

It took Beverly a moment to place the word. "Isn't that where they callithump the bridal couple with pots and cow bells?"

"All night long," Jean-Luc added.

"They did it on Caldos, too…"

Picard paled at the thought of anyone finding out it was a custom from Beverly's homeworld, too.

He shuddered in mock-terror. "Let's get this over with."

"You want our wedding party to be over?" Beverly dryly asked.

Picard considered his choices, then opted for honesty. "Well, the sooner it is over, the sooner we can begin our honeymoon…"

And with that observation, they returned to the banquet hall. Jean-Luc extended his arms to both ladies and escorted them to their seats at the raised main table.

And so, the wedding celebration began.

As with most weddings, there was food, toasts and dancing.

Plus the added entertainment of watching a newly-minted ship's captain trying to keep the bloodshed to a minimum between the Fleet Admiral of Starfleet and the Senior Ambassadress from Betazed during the dinner.

Though Beverly was sure that the dinner was good, for Jean-Luc's personal chef had prepared many dishes including Boeuf Bourguignon, Marseille bouillabaisse with turbot, mussels, hake, and langoustines or soufflé Grand Marnier, she didn't remember eating very much of anything. Jean-Luc, she noted, ate only the baguettes and water. The only time she drank any champagne was when Will Riker began the incessant banging of a spoon against a glass which then swelled to hundreds of pounding spoons before Jean-Luc would lean close to her, touch their champagne flutes together, and then kiss her. Or she would kiss him. She sent her evil eye in the direction of the new captain of the Enterprise, for constantly clinking his glass. Will in turn just gestured to the quarreling couple that surrounded him. And Jean-Luc after the fourth such serenade, whispered to his bride, "Give in, Beverly. Let's enjoy ourselves." And then proceeded to kiss her with just a touch of passion.

The toasts were numerous. Will waxed eloquently. Robert sniffled as he praised the continuation of traditions. Wesley just wished his mom and his new-step dad joy and a bright future. Mr. Data quoted a Shakespeare sonnet about the marriage of true minds. Mr. Worf wished for healthy baby warriors - many of them. Dr. Selar commented that it must be true love if getting married seems to be the logical thing to do. Geordi hoped that they would find true happiness in each other. Winston Holt Wiley just simply wished Beverly luck, for since she'd married Jean-Luc, she'd need it. Lwaxana started to offer marital advice, but there was something in the look that her daughter gave her that cut that little speech short. The toasts would have continued if Jean-Luc hadn't suddenly stood, raised his glass and toasted his bride - his one true love. And then before she could respond, he pulled her to her feet, kissed her wrist, and then nodded at the band.

"Our first dance as a married couple…" he explained.

The beautiful strains of Paris' aria from La Belle Helene by Jacques Offenbach, was played as a waltz.

He guided Beverly onto the dance floor, as all watched with anticipation. Lwaxana stopped her bickering. She even refrained from hitting Will Riker at this time.

With his arm firmly about her waist, Jean-Luc guided Beverly about the dance floor.

She recognized her husband's choice in music. "'Au mont Ida trois deesses'. I thought this was an aria about three bickering goddesses."

"They're arguing over who is the fairest of them all, mon coeur… And I already know the answer to their question - you."

She delightedly sighed and permitted him to swirl her about. A lot. After a few moments, she whispered, "You've been practicing…"

He managed to slightly nip to her earlobe even as he said 'oui'.

She was the first to slightly stumble, though her husband's steady grip held her safe. And at this moment, she relinquished to him complete control. And he accepted her gift…

Eventually, Robert and Marie, Guinan and Geordi, and other couples joined them on the dance floor.

Lwaxana stood, pointedly stared at Will, waved her ruffled gold lame arms about, and then airily asked, "Well, with whom shall I dance?"

Will looked in desperation at Deanna, hoping that she would accept his silent invitation. She briefly nodded, gave Will a blessed moment of reprieve, smiled - it wasn't nice - and then twirled into the arms of Mr. Worf, who whisked her onto the dance floor.

Mentally consigning his Imzadi to the devil even as he silently acknowledged that it was his own big mouth that had gotten him into this trouble in the first place, he donned his most polite, ambassadorial grin and smiled in Lwaxana's direction.

"Gotta move fast if you want to catch Lwaxana," Admiral Winston Holt Wiley advised his new captain, as he pushed past Will, grabbed Lwaxana's arm, and dragged the Ambassador from Betazed onto the dance floor. Considering his presumptive actions, Lwaxana actually did not screech that much. After a little while, she even shut up.

At this point, Deanna Troi started thumping her head against Worf's broad chest, muttering, "Noooooooo….."

"I would have never survived without you," Jean-Luc whispered into his lover's ear, as the band started playing some sort of Risian number to which he actually knew all the moves. So did Beverly.

Will, for the first time that night, leaned back in his chair, took in the view, and just grinned. It was a very silly, very pleased grin.

Jean-Luc continued to murmur sweet nothings into Beverly's ear. Pausing now and then to sniff the roses in her upswept hair, he permitted himself to just simply feel. He now knew another definition for 'heaven'.

So did she.

Of course such bliss could not last.

Her death glare did not keep Captain Riker from politely tapping her husband on the shoulder. But then she nodded her acceptance of a change of partners, as Will now swirled her into his arms.

"Nice…"

She still glared at him. "Don't blame me for Deanna's doings. Or think that what she did absolves you from my wrath!"

"I was just commenting on how nice it is to be dancing at your wedding, Beverly."

She still glared at him - doing her best not to ruin the effect by giggling.

Finally, he got the hint that she might be angry with him. "It was only one little word, Beverly!"

"For which you will pay for the rest of your life, Will Riker," she warned, before she grinned.

Before he could form a comment to that statement, Will was tapped on the shoulder.

Admiral Winston Holt Wiley stood there.

Yielding to a much higher authority, Riker nodded, and then disappeared as the band started playing a slow four-step.

Wiley thought it was a waltz.

Beverly just plastered a smile that could also pass as a grimace on her face. She also noted Wiley's unabashed interest in her bosom, for it was at eye level for this somewhat short man.

Wiley was also grinning, as he stated to Beverly, "Finally got Jean-Luc, eh, Beverly?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Knew he was after you. You don't know how many times he blocked your transfer from the Enterprise. Wasn't sure what it was that you wanted for quite a long time, though. See you finally figured him out."

Her countenance softened, as she bent down and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you."

"I'll always help you and Jean-Luc whenever I can."

Beverly didn't mind that his nose nestled decidedly close to her décolletage.

"Now, tell me what you know about Lwaxana…"

Beverly was laughing at this when she whirled by Jean-Luc who was taking a breather at their banquet table.

"Friends," the El Aurian acerbicly observed.

"Surprisingly, yes he is, Guinan." Jean-Luc didn't even glance at Guinan who was sitting next to him. He'd already surmised her thoughts. "I am very fortunate in my choice of bride - and my friends."

"Flattery will not help you get out of it, Jean-Luc Picard. You owe me. I had told you once that you were going to dance with me on your wedding day. And I never make a prophecy that I have no intention of fulfilling."

"Unless you're bluffing," Picard unwisely commented.

"Unless you want to welsh on our deal, you'd better come along now."

"Guinan, has anyone every told you that you are a bossy, prying, aggravating female?"

"Data said that to me yesterday. And insulting me won't get you out of our dance. It won't work."

"I do not care to dance, Guinan."

"I know. But," she jerked her head at the dance floor, "you've just proved otherwise."

"Beverly is a physician. She can cure whatever damage my feet might inflict."

"She can do that to any other dancer as well." Guinan eyed him then shook her head in disgust. Her pink lace chapeau wobbled quite a bit. "You are going to be really difficult about this, aren't you?"

He formally agreed. But before she could get up and stomp away, he grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms and on to the dance floor, now slowly moving about.

"I will admit that when I made that bet with you, I made it at a time when I never conceived of the possibility of discharging it."

Then the music suddenly changed to a new tune, "The Man Who Got Away." He would have said something about this different, unexpected choice of song titles, if it weren't for the fact that Guinan looked completely innocent about this music change. He knew that she must have finagled something with Mr. Data, for the android had gone over the musical choices with Admiral Picard earlier in the week. And they both had agreed to a specific list of music. Of course, proving it was not a battle worth fighting at the moment.

He studied the woman in his arms. Her choice of a pale pink and yellow dress was not that unexpected - though for her, such a sedate outfit was unusual.

"You'll be a fine husband," the lady in his arms whispered. And then, when the music was almost done, she added right before she slipped away, "And a good father too…"

After treading on Guinan's toes only once, the former captain found himself in demand as a dance partner. He knew that once he had danced with Guinan, there was a long list of ladies who would expect their due too.

What surprised him was that Alynna Nechayev was the first one to corner him.

"I approve, you know," she informed him as he guided her about to a waltz, managing to avoid stepping on any imperial toes as he did so.

Jean-Luc didn't quite know how to respond to that statement. "Of what, Alynna?"

She didn't glower at him. This, in and of itself, was amazing. For Jean-Luc had been under no delusion that her friendly attitude during the admirals' bachelor dinner signaled a major change in her personal attitude towards him.

"Beverly. She will be a humanizing influence upon you."

"I see," he agreed with unyielding formality.

Alynna knew that he didn't but she rather liked the fact that she was annoying him. "Jean-Luc, contrary to what is a popular belief amongst most officers that know you, it is good to see that you are flesh and blood after all. You were too perfect a starship captain. There was a mighty collective sigh amongst the four-pippers when you accepted your promotion."

"Surely not." He shook his head in disagreement. "I can remember times when you did not think so, Alynna."

Almost stopping in mid-step, but then recognizing that to leave him on the dance floor during his wedding party would cause an incident, Alynna nodded. "I wasn't questioning your duty, Jean-Luc. You've always been the 'holier than thou' sort when it comes to one's perception of duty."

"I have not!" Jean-Luc sternly objected.

She ignored him. "I was, however, seriously questioning your judgment as a military officer."

"And that is something to which I have never aspired, Alynna. I have always been an explorer. I have done my duty when necessary. But aspire to the military mindset? Never." He took a deep breath and added, "And I am questioning your judgment that you'd even bring up this topic during a dance at my wedding."

"You're right. This isn't the place. We shall continue this." She stopped dancing, grabbed his arm and pulled him to the nearest bar. "I need a drink. Romulan ale," she ordered of Ben who was standing on duty at this particular small bar. For there were five other bars located about the holodeck to serve the approximate four hundred guests.

"Uh, we don't have any," Ben quickly informed the lady. For even in a fancy dress, she was an easy admiral to identify. Ben was not the kind of shipboard civilian to ever be mistaken for a simpleton - or an officer.

"My lord, you really were that perfect of a captain? And you ran such a perfect ship? No human vices at all?" she disgustedly asked.

"I believe that one of my officers has provided us with some Vulcan ale, Ben," Jean-Luc suggested, as he motioned for a glass for himself as well.

Within moments, the Vulcan 'Ju' style metallic tripod base goblets were presented to the admirals.

Alynna picked one up. "It looks like Vulcan ale." She tasted it. She then took a bigger sip. "Yes, it most definitely must be a good Vulcan ale. Served in a Vulcan goblet, too. Nice touch."

After Picard picked up his ale, she directed, "Walk with me."

Glancing over his shoulder to see Beverly now doing a dance routine with Mr. Data to the number "Singing in the Rain", Picard dutifully followed the senior admiral out into the corridor.

He wasn't that surprised to note that she found the closest observation lounge with little difficulty.

Alynna sat down on the closest chair, motioning for Jean-Luc to join her.

"Computer, lock the door."

Picard took a quick sip of ale, as he chose to ignore Alynna's tactic.

Sighing, she went on to her next move. She'd known that it would take more than a locked door to intimidate Jean-Luc Picard, even though she did have to try.

"You're right. I do apologize."

Jean-Luc was not nonplussed even though he could count on one finger the number of times a Starfleet admiral had ever apologized to him.

"I have no substantive objection to Will Riker, you know."

"I am glad to hear that, Alynna."

"Of course, Captain Jellico raised quite a ruckus when he heard the news. Eddie felt that he deserved this ship."

"I agree that Captain Jellico is a good man…"

"There were many other officers that deserved the captain's chair of the Enterprise, too." She sighed, taking a deep drink of her ale. "Ah well, whatever the head of Starfleet wishes…" She contemplated the man before her. "But then Holt always chooses to do whatever you wanted him to do - ever since the beginning."

"I beg to differ."

"Did you have something on Holt?"

He ignored this question.

"Ever the consummate officer. Eh, Jean-Luc? You were always the too-ideal officer, the living example of Starfleet's best. From the very beginning, you were Holt's curly-haired golden boy…" She looked him over for a moment, pointedly staring at his head. "…even if most of your hair has been misplaced."

"I think you over-estimate my influence with Admiral Wiley, Alynna."

"Nonsense. Holt thinks that you can do no wrong and you know that he thinks it. It's to your credit that you've never used the situation for your own personal gain - but then, such an action wouldn't fit your self-image. Or Holt's."

"That was before Wolf 359," was Jean-Luc's tenebrous comment; mistrusting her words.

For a moment, she just sat there in her glittering ice-blue dress, looking him over, not quite believing that his words were serious. Yet, somehow, she suspected that they were. He'd always had a refined sense of guilt. She sensed that the certain issues the Admiralty had always assumed that Jean-Luc had tacitly understood were not countenanced by him. Now, she accepted that he truly didn't know or truly believe that he'd been absolved of his Borg sins.

"Jean-Luc, have you ever considered the possibility that the Federation was very lucky that you were the one kidnapped to become Locutus of Borg?"

"Lucky?" he spat out, appalled at her choice of words. "What happened to me was not good luck."

"But it was - for the Federation. What do you think would have happened if the Borg had chosen someone with a weaker strength of character to be their interlocutory? We'd all be assimilated by now, if we still were alive, that is. According to Captain Shelby, the Borg's fatal mistake was made when they selected you as Locutus. If they had picked a lesser man…" She shuddered. "The Admiralty knows where we'd all be. Thanks to you, and of course to Captain Riker, we are free, and regaining the strength to face them again should the Borg ever return."

He focused on some of her words. "Captain Shelby?"

"Yes. She's just been given the chair of the new nebula class starship, the James Tiptree. She'll serve it well. Of course, Captain Riker will have to watch his back. The lady has ambitions. And she has made no secret of them."

He nodded, recognizing the truth behind her words.

"Captain Shelby is the kind of an officer that I can understand, Jean-Luc. You, however, I never could fathom…"

"I always thought that I was a simple man."

"Hah! Simple? Never. That's why I am pleased that you married Beverly. She'll demand that you be a human being around her." She noted his strained, polite until the death smile.

"I was unaware that you took such a personal interest in my life."

"I do with all of the captains assigned to me, under my command. Besides, Jean-Luc, there are times when you remind me of my husband."

His fixed smile quavered with these words.

"One of my ex-husbands, that is."

"Alynna…"

She drained her goblet and then stood. "We'd better be getting back."

"Alynna, why now? Why, this?" He gestured about the room.

"Because I didn't want you joining the admiralty thinking that things had really changed between us. I've always admired your convictions, even when I opposed them."

"I never assumed that things would really change that much between us, Alynna."

"One never knows what the future will bring, Admiral Picard. Now, I must go in search of my date - unless he's run off with Lwaxana. Wouldn't put that past him."

Picard choked as he finished off his ale. Then he shuddered to think of the implications of what a personal relationship meant between Holt and Alynna.

When they returned to the holodeck, Jean-Luc discovered that Holt had coerced Beverly into having her toes thoroughly mashed by him again. The way they were dancing made them a most incongruous spectacle.

"Perhaps, I'd best go rescue her," Picard muttered, noting the placement of Holt's nose on Beverly's bosom.

"If you do, you'll soon be a captain without a ship, Jean-Luc."

"If I don't, I may become a groom without a bride. Or, if I'm lucky, I'll just have an irritated bride."

"And you'd choose your bride over your promotion?" Alynna dramatically sighed. "Pity none of my ex-husbands ever said something like that. I might still be married to one of them."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that you are not." With this outlandish statement, Guinan joined them. She did not bother hiding the fact that she had been blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation. She draped her arms about their shoulders. The little bells sewn to her pink cuffs tinkled madly.

"What?" Alynna icily demanded, annoyed by Guinan's presumptiveness. And the jangling of her sleeves.

"Admiral Nechayev, may I present Madam Guinan? Guinan, Admiral Nechayev." Picard's voice held just a touch of mordant drollness as he introduced them.

"I believe I've heard a comment or two about you, Admiral," Guinan merrily stated, knowing that her words would disconcert at least one of the admirals within her clutches.

"Woody always did have a big mouth," Alynna suggested, because she knew enough about Jean-Luc to know that he would keep his personal opinions to himself.

Somewhat pleased the Alynna had believed at least this of him, Picard studied Guinan, wondering what she was about.

"Go and rescue Beverly," Guinan ordered. "I will take care of this admiral personally. That should ease your mind, Jean-Luc." Knowing that her words would achieve the exact opposite with the man only made Guinan's inscrutable smile grow larger.

When Jean-Luc was safe within Beverly's embrace again, Guinan leaned over to Alynna and whispered, "Have I got a scotch for you. A Bajoran ensign I know, got it from a gardener that she met on Caldos. See me in my quarters right after the reception."

"Right." Alynna arched her two pencil-thin eyebrows. "You've never mentioned to Jean-Luc that we are friends, now have you, Guinan?"

"Oh, that was just some information that I was saving to tell Picard the next time I was stranded with him in a crashed shuttlecraft with no hope of rescue. I don't want the man to rip out the rest of his hair before then."

Any camaraderie that Guinan was displaying toward Alynna would be attributed as wedding joviality and not the realization that the two friends and conspirators, really knew each other. Such information might have caused Picard to have a few nightmares, if he had been aware.

When this dance was over, Jean-Luc shook his head at the approaching women, and then guided his bride back to their seats. Both were sorely in need of something to drink, which in Jean-Luc's case, was water.

Even as Beverly drank another flute of champagne, she mentioned, "Trying to stay sober for our wedding night, beloved?"

"With this many admirals floating about, I feel the need for a reasonably clear head."

"Ah. Me. I am just fortifying myself for the ordeal to come."

"Ordeal?"

"Yes, our wedding night." There was a merry look to her countenance which indicated the exact opposite.

"I see. And why is it an ordeal?"

"Well, I like to anticipate things." She leaned very close to her husband, giving him the chance to observe that which Winston Holt Wiley had been trying to view most of the evening. "You know, what you'll kiss. Where you'll kiss. How you will kiss. Lwaxana hiding in the bathroom, ready to tell us what's wrong with the way we kiss. You know, that sort of ordeal."

He spluttered. Thankfully, only a little bit. "Lwaxana wouldn't…" Then he stopped himself. If there was anything that he knew about Lwaxana Troi, was that she would…

"I'll have security do a sweep of our quarters before we enter."

"Smart thinking, my darling. And that's why Holt made you a captain a long time ago…"

He stilled at Beverly's choice of endearment. And when he released his breath, it was with the knowledge, that he was now someone's darling. Again. He had to blink back the tears as he softly kissed the lady who now held his heart.

"Ahem. Admirals." Ro had to say these words several times before both of the kissing admirals noticed that she was standing in front of them.

Even though Picard did not specifically know to whom she was addressing, he answered, "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Ro glanced over at the bandstand where Captain Riker was currently gripping his trombone as if it were a potential weapon.

"Captain Riker has a request."

"And that is?" Picard pleasantly asked.

"Please start the customary proceedings as quickly as possible."

Picard caught the expression of mischief on Laren's face in the candlelight. The newly-promoted lieutenant, senior grade, was brimming with a suppressed excitement that went beyond the fact that she was attending an admiralty filled wedding. Picard leaned forward, inwardly wincing as several of his muscles protested this action. Reminded of holodeck reasons as to why his muscles were sore, he was not in the mood to immediately accommodate Captain Riker.

"Why, Lieutenant?"

"Admiral Wiley has requested a polka. He intends to dance it with Counselor Troi. And he wants Captain Riker to play it."

Picard considered the lieutenant's statement. And he liked the idea of disconcerting Will Riker. But visions of Deanna bobbing along with Winston Holt Wiley striving to polka, however humorous, would not be a kind favor to Deanna. Though it would serve the new captain of the Enterprise right to discover just how much fun it was to serve at Admiral Wiley's every whim.

Picard turned to his bride. "Shall we discover what Will means by the customary proceedings?"

But the question became moot when Data appeared on stage holding a musical instrument that even Picard did not really want to readily identify.

It was Marie who spoke up as she joined them. "Mr. Data can play the accordion?" she asked, as Data launched into a rendition of the "Wedding Band Polka".

"Apparently," Picard reluctantly answered, nodding to Worf to keep a watchful eye on Captain Riker. And then he wondered at the changes to Mr. Worf's normally fierce expression as he observed Worf watching Wiley and Deanna.

Winston Holt Wiley suffered no obvious injury during the dance, though Deanna seemed to be limping after the first few bars. Worf then was heard muttering something about honor-ordained assassinations since it seemed obvious to everyone that the real reason for Winston requesting a polka was in order to see Deanna jiggle as she hopped about.

Riker seemed to be turning a shade of puce though it was hard to tell for sure in the subdued lighting of the holodeck.

Knowing that not even admirals could expect Jean-Luc Picard to dance the polka, he watched with fateful fascination as the couple of the moment danced by. However Marie had other plans. She grabbed Jean-Luc's hand and wouldn't let go. Matters were not helped when he realized that his wife was pushing him from behind in order to get him out onto the dance floor.

"You'll pay," he promised his wife as he started matching Marie's steps. Memories of long ago harvest dances guided his feet.

The look in Marie's eyes told him that she had heard his words to his wife. The way she was laughing gave Jean-Luc a better appreciation as to why Robert had married this lady, aside from her being a great cook.

Perhaps the most astonishing moment of the polka, after the guests recovered from the shock of seeing Picard dance it that is, was what came next.

"May I?"

The fact that someone had the sheer effrontery to try to cut in on the head of Starfleet was enough to cause Wiley to stand abruptly still. But when he turned around to see who is was that had tapped his shoulder, his only possible response was to cackle. Loudly.

"You pup! You think you can do this to me?"

"Yes, Sir," Wesley quietly observed.

Shaking his head in disbelief over the cadet's gall, but rather liking the fact that this cadet had the gumption to do it, Holt bowed at the waist toward the beauteous Betazed, swept his arm back and then turned to Mr. Data as the bandleader, who has stopped playing when Wiley had stopped polkaing.

Holt ordered, "Musicmeister, play on!"

Data obeyed this order, even as Holt walked over to the sidelines and joined Woody Nakamura and Will Riker.

"That's Cadet Crusher?" he asked, quite civilly, of Captain Riker.

"Yes, Sir," Riker reluctantly admitted, wondering if his young friend had just taken leave of his senses and wanted to be kicked out of Starfleet Academy.

"Call me Holt," Wiley ordered of Riker. Then Wiley added, "Call him Woody, too Will. Can't have the captain of the flagship standing on formalities when it ain't necessary."

"Uh, yes Sir. Holt. Woody." Riker glanced over at this admiral to make sure that this use of his Christian name was permitted. Woody nodded.

Holt turned from the dance floor and asked, "Now, what? Knowing Jean-Luc, the man will probably want to sit us all down for tea and crumpets after the party, discussing the merits of French literature on the subject of matrimony throughout the centuries."

Up until a few hours ago, Will Riker would have considered that Jean-Luc Picard was quite capable of doing something like this. But considering recent events, it was a much more unlikely possibility. But lest his former captain be tempted to follow protocol, Will bravely suggested, "Woody. Holt. Why don't you come by my quarters after the party? I've got some Alaskan aged whiskey. Some Vulcan ale. Some pot still Jamesons'. And an unmarked deck of cards."

Woody started as Will for a moment, then said, "Are you proposing whiskey, poker and cigars, Will?"

"I don't have any cigars though I imagine we could replicate some," Will cheerfully replied, delighted that he'd found a way to draw the admirals' attention away from Wesley Crusher's display of gallantry.

"Good," Holt grunted. "I'm beginning to see in you what Picard saw." Wiley stared at Worf, who was staring back at him like the Khitomer Accord had never happened. "I'll bring the cigars. I've got a box from Cubana II that should only be smoked by aficionados." Then he leaned over and looked behind the bar. "I think I'll grab some of the good wine before it's all gone and we're stuck drinking synthehol." He grabbed four bottles of cabernet and handed two to Woody. Then he paused, giving Riker the kind of stare that had struck fear in the hearts of officers for over four decades, and added, "Bring along the brat. And the Klingon too."

"Uh, Holt," Will hesitantly started to say.

"If the pup doesn't know how to play poker, I will teach him." Wiley grinned. It was not a good-natured sort of smile. "I owe him."

After the admirals left, Worf stepped over and asked, "Brat, Captain?"

"He means Wesley, Worf. The Admiral intends to extract some sort of vengeance, I think."

Worf grimly smiled. "Cadet Crusher showed great courage in rescuing Counselor Troi. I shall enjoy joining you, Captain. I am invited?"

"Of course, Mr. Worf. You and your credits will always be welcome at my poker table." He considered Worf's earlier words. "Wesley did show great courage. And monumental foolhardiness as well. It's almost as if Wes were trying to get himself kicked out of the Academy."

"Let us hope that Wesley remembers that being a mathematical genius in the company of admirals may not be a wise idea."

"You're right. I'll see if I can get Mr. Data to join us too."

Meanwhile, over at a sweets table, Beverly and Jean-Luc were using an ancestral sabre de cavalerie to slice their wedding cake. Robert had been thoughtful enough to bring it along. Generations of Picards had used it. Now it was his turn.

It was not surprising that the cake was chocolate with a white chocolate butter cream frosting. Chocolate was a given. What was surprising, aside from the cake statuary on the top layer being that of two admirals with one admiral wearing a med coat and pointing a tricorder in the direction of her spouse, was that the top layer was not chocolate. Under the white icing was something pink.

"Pytharian passion fruit," Guinan advised as she beamed, watching the couple feed each other a piece of cake with as much dignity as possible given the circumstances.

Dammit. Jean-Luc could do everything elegantly - even this…

She followed behind the wedded couple as they returned to their seats, and then she placed two plates of cake in front of them.

"Pytharian passion fruit," Guinan repeated. "It's a good luck wedding delicacy on my planet. Or, don't you need such things?"

The former captain of the Enterprise recognized treacherous words when he heard them. He was also well aware of the fact that Beverly was sitting next to him, and was doing her not quite innocent best to distract him from Guinan's attention. Her actions underneath the table did have the potential to distract him.

"Actually, I was not deliberately insulting you or your choice of nuptial foods. I was just about to thank you for your wedding preparations efforts. I am very appreciative, Guinan. For everything." And he knew that she understood he meant his words to mean more than just for the food.

Beverly laced her fingers with Jean-Luc's, deciding that she had only somewhat succeeded with her under-the-table activities. "We both thank you, Guinan. And for the beautiful way that you decorated both Ten-Forward and here, with only a few days notice."

"Oh, I started planning your wedding feast the first day I met you, Beverly," Guinan stated, proffering her most guileless big grin.

Jean-Luc hoped that Guinan really would not elaborate. There were times with this lady when he had the feeling that she had manipulated a great many of the events in his life. He was torn between cursing her or kissing her in gratitude.

"And?" a voice called from down the table. "Who else?"

Picard acknowledged his brother.

But it was Beverly who understood the question. "Thank you for the cabernet and the champagne, Marie and Robert. And for coming to our wedding." Beverly sent a sly look in Jean-Luc's direction, accurately guessing how much her new husband disliked ever being indebted to his brother. "It was most gracious and understanding of you, given the circumstances."

Robert chortled. Marie just happily smiled, glad that Jean-Luc had found his destiny. And that he'd chosen so wisely.

It was Wesley's turn to dance with his mother. "You're happy, aren't you, Mom?

"Yes. So far, so good," she agreed.

"I'm really glad that you're married. Love you, Mom," he admitted.

"Oh, Wesley. I love you too."

Before the tears began to form it was Will Riker who tapped Wes on the shoulder.

"My turn," he cheerfully announced.

And Wesley went in search of Marie. For he'd looked up wedding party traditions and knew that every member of the wedding part should dance with each other at some point during the festivities.

Marie's smile was gentle as she accepted her step-nephew's invitation.

"I understand," she whispered as Wesley led her about during a slow fox trot.

"What, Madame?"

"Call me Aunt Marie. For that is what I am to you now." He nodded his head in acceptance of her request. "You will always have a place with us, Wesley Crusher. Whenever you need to get away from the Academy, come and stay with us. Even if you decide to leave…"

Wesley stumbled. "How could you possible know?"

"It's only natural, Wesley. You are evaluating your life. Trying to decide if you have a place in this Starfleet world. It is an impressive but intimidating world, nephew. But it is not the only world. You should decide for yourself what you wish to do. Never mind what you think your mother and Jean-Luc might want for you. After all, it is your life, not theirs. They will support you regardless of the path that you choose." She kissed his cheek. "Come and visit when you need a break."

"I will," Wesley promise, suddenly very glad that his mother had married into this remarkable family. And that Rene was one lucky kid.

When events quieted down, Jean-Luc found time to dance a waltz with Marie.

"Merci, Jean-Luc."

"For what, Marie?"

"For being kind to your brother. For one day, forgiving him."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"It was Robert who did not understand, Jean-Luc. And your father. During the harvest, Robert commands a hundred fearless souls in his vineyard willing to brave his wrath if they dare to bruise one of his beloved pinot noir grapes while picking them. That is the world Robert understands. But now, on board this great ship, he is finally seeing you in your world. Getting to know what it is that you really do. Or rather, did." She looked about the room at the people still enjoying the party. "Your people. Your friends. Your admirals and dignitaries that before today, we only saw from afar on broadcasts. Important people. And now, he's dancing with them. And though he won't say it, Robert is in awe of what you've done with your life. At best, Robert's associates offer him only respect. And not the kind of respect, admiration and friendship that I see here today, for you."

"Surely some offer him friendship as well? Any man who can have such a loving wife as you is not a total disaster as a human being."

"Well, he does have a few old friends. Still, nothing of our world prepared him for the enormity and the importance of yours, Jean-Luc"

"Bah. Nonsense. He is captain of his vineyard, just as I was captain of my ship. Perhaps my logistics and situations were greater, but it all becomes the same thing. We are each doing what we want to do with our lives. And as for Rene…"

She interrupted him. "Believe it or not, Robert is proud of Rene's interest in science and the stars."

"Really?"

She laughed. It was a happy sound as her brother-in-law skillfully swirled her about the dance floor. "I said proud, Jean-Luc. Not ecstatic."

On the other side of the dance floor, Robert was holding Beverly, dancing at a proper distance between them, of course. If there was anything that Beverly had learned about her new brother-in-law, it was that he prized the formalities. And that he was a surprisingly good dancer - technically better than Jean-Luc.

"Marie," he offered by way of explanation to her unspoken question.

"What?" Beverly hadn't really been paying attention to Robert's conversation since she'd kept glancing over at her spouse.

"Marie always insisted that I dance with her. And I did not mind it." He had noticed the direction of her glances. "It seems that you have performed a miracle with my little brother."

"What?"

"Getting Jean-Luc to dance. Even as a boy, he was always up in his room studying instead of enjoying the festival after the harvest. Our granmere would have to go and drag him outside in order to get him to dance with her. She tried to teach him how to dance."

"Well, someone taught Jean-Luc."

"No doubt Jean-Luc thought it was a skill that was a prerequisite of being a good starship captain. And diplomat." He chuckled at this thought.

Beverly nodded. "You're probably right. He was a skilled dancer the first night I met him. And that was before I married Jack. He's just never liked to show himself off unless it was absolutely necessary."

Robert chuckled again.

They danced for a while. Then Robert admitted, "I am glad that you have married my little brother, Beverly."

"Why thank you, Robert."

"I believe that you can persuade him to come down and dance around the bonfire, now and then. You'll help him find the joy in life - beyond his duty." Robert looked away from her concerned gaze. "Regardless of what my little brother might have said about me…"

"I have only heard him speak of regret that he was not on better terms with you."

"Well if he weren't so bloody arrogant…"

"He wouldn't be Jean-Luc Picard."

Robert was silent for a while. "I have learned never to disagree with my Marie." He looked at Beverly as if he actually approved of her. "Marie was right."

"About?"

"She said that you would be good for my little brother…"

"I hope that you will always feel that way, Robert. Especially since we will be living on Earth pretty soon. Nearby. I am really going to try…"

Jean-Luc wasn't all that surprised when after a few more turns about the dance floor, his brother stepped up and tapped his shoulder. Jean-Luc could appreciate Robert's sentiments. The Picard men should be dancing with their own wives.

Beverly was waiting for her beloved to dance with her. Without bothering to inform him, she decided that this would be their last dance, this night.

Data led the band in the old standard, "Cheek to Cheek."

Judging by the way she was trying to tempt him with the way that she danced with him, he knew it was their last dance this night, too.

Nuzzling the red-gold shot strands of her perfumed hair, Jean-Luc was quite content just to move about to the music, storing the moment forever in his memory.

"We should do this more often, Jean-Luc."

He raised his head a little and looked into his beloved wife's sparkling blue eyes.

"Have a wedding a party?"

She laughed, pleased with his answer, even if it was the wrong one. "No, Jean-Luc. Dance. For you did it so rarely, before."

He considered the importance of her words. "Something tells me that I am going to have to dance with you for the rest of our lives."

"You make it sound like an obligation."

"It is. And you will oblige me whenever I wish."

"I see. And what if I don't feel like dancing?"

"Then that will be proof that aliens will have kidnapped the real Beverly Picard and left a poor substitute behind…"

"Then I guess that I had better dance with you."

"Any complaints?"

"None." They danced for a while longer. Beverly duly noted that Jean-Luc's hand on her waist, had been dropping, and was now pleasantly situated on her behind. He even squeezed her, now and then. "Jean-Luc. Are you going to be a possessive husband?"

"No. Of course not."

But the look in his eyes told her all that she needed to know. He wouldn't possess her completely. But she now knew that he would want too…

Alynna Nechayev had noticed the unhappy Betazed at the bar. After a few minutes, she decided to join the lady.

"I'll have what she's having," Alynna instructed the bartender, as she settled onto a chair by a café table near the bar. She motioned for Deanna to join her. "Make it two doubles," she instructed.

Deanna finally turned her head to notice this admiral. There just simply were too many admirals on board the Enterprise, Deanna thought, even as she complied with Alynna's unspoken command.

Then Deanna turned to watch a couple on the dance floor as she drank her Clarion version of a double vodka martini.

"He was my date," Alynna advised Deanna.

Deanna still looked at her mother dancing with the fleet admiral. Then watched as the man pinched her mother's ass. Her mortification grew when she observed what her mother did next to the admiral. It appeared that a truce had been reached, considering where her mother was now groping.

"You can leave him behind. I'm still stuck with my mother." Deanna nibbled on a spiced onion from her drink.

Both ladies then observed Will Riker striding toward them, until he recognized his Imazdi's companion. Then he pivoted as if Data had called out to him from the bandstand. He joined the android and picked up his trombone.

"Don't let that one get away," Alynna advised.

"What?"

"The sooner you marry him, the better it will be for both of you - and his career."

"What?"

"Oh, you'll have a great career with or without Will Riker. He's the one who really needs you. One of my main objections to making Will Riker captain of the Enterprise was that in certain areas, I was not so sure that he was mature enough to be the captain of the Enterprise."

"Oh." Deanna drank her drink. "Can't say I totally disagree with your opinion."

"You're enough of psychologist to know that his words this afternoon…"

"You mean his publicly declaring his desire to remain a bachelor in spite of the fact that he spends more nights in my quarters than he does his own, now?"

"Precisely. Riker used Picard's unmarried state as justification for his own bachelorhood. Now that the rug has been pulled out from under his feet, I think he was feeling pretty nervous during the ceremony."

"And when it comes to men…"

Both ladies watched as Lwaxana led Winston off the dance floor .

"They do stupid things," Alynna snippily observed.

"You aren't in love with Winston?" Deanna asked, wondering what kind of damage control she would have to do when it came to her mother. Though she was not really sensing anything from the admiral.

Alynna smiled as if she knew exactly what was perplexing the Betazed. "No. I'm the fleet admiral's official escort for formal functions if he can't blackmail someone else into doing it." She motioned for the bartender to bring another round of martinis. "And I spent almost seven years on Vulcan. I learned a few mental tricks there, when it comes to blocking telepaths."

Deanna finished off the last of her liquid courage. "If you will excuse me, Admiral.

"Call me Alynna when we're off duty." She grinned. "That will really make Will Riker nervous."

"Thank you, Alynna. He deserves that. And more," Deanna announced as she stood and walked up to the bandstand. Ignoring the interested looks, she stood in front of Will, grabbed his trombone slide, and announced, "Dance with me." She didn't give Will a choice. He hopped down and held her.

"I've been waiting all evening for you to ask me, Imzadi."

Deanna was about to challenge that remark when she realized that she hadn't seen Will dance with anyone else other than Marie Picard and Beverly all evening. Deciding to fight with him tomorrow, she melted into his arms.

No one mentioned that they thought that the band sounded better without the trombone player playing.

She was dancing in her beloved's arms. Beverly was happy. Deliriously so. And content, yet filled with a burgeoning excitement over their future. And she knew that he felt it in kind. No one dared interrupt them now.

And then Guinan came over and informed them that they had better leave, or she was going to let them do the cleaning up.

Jean-Luc didn't mind holding Beverly's hand as they walked down the corridors of Deck Eight, to what would now become their quarters.

For some reason, they did not encounter anyone in the corridors. Later on, Jean-Luc would learn that it was Will who had thought that the newly married couple might like some privacy during the walk to their bridal chamber.

Once Jean-Luc realized that they were truly alone, Picard put his arm about Beverly's waist, seemingly at ease with the universe as they walked along. As a couple. It was an idea to which they both would need time in order to become accustomed to this change in their dynamics. They had been alone for so long. And now, they were not.

"That was a nice wedding," the bride noted.

"Yes, it was."

"Guinan did a splendid job."

"She always does."

"She's done other weddings for you?"

"Often." On her surprised look, he added, "Guinan's arranged all the weddings that I've performed on board the Enterprise."

Wondering if Jean-Luc was really paying attention to her words, Beverly remarked, "Admiral Wiley is a good dancer."

"I am better."

"That isn't saying much."

Jean-Luc stopped walking.

"What?"

He tried to sound indignant, but couldn't because Beverly had stopped walking too. And she kissed him, right smack dab in the middle of the corridor.

And when she was done, they resumed walking. She was pleased to note that the only thing he was bothering to check was her sashaying hips and not for any observing crewmen. She'd learned a long time ago, that he most definitely was an ass man - at least, when it came to her ass, for she'd never noticed him checking out other women - at least, not around her.

"You were thinking about something, Jean-Luc?"

"Actually, I was just realizing that this was the moment of our lives when we begin the marriage of true minds part."

"And right now, there are no more impediments to us, in our lives…"

"At least none that we cannot resolve, together, Beverly."

When they reached his quarters, she was not that astonished when he picked her up, and carried her over the threshold.

She gave him the obligatory protest, "Put me down, Jean-Luc! Your back!"

He put her down. In a room filled with lilacs - all pink and white.

"Oh, my darling…" she sighed. She was thrilled beyond words.

Jean-Luc had enjoyed every minute of their wedding, and he would happily remember quite a bit of it in the years to come, but the only moments that he would recall with perfect clarity were those that began when he carried his bride over the threshold into their quarters. And all that happened afterwards.

A long time later, he stroked the silken texture of her flesh, pausing at a curve, lingering at a breast.

She lazily turned toward him, stirring against the pink satin sheets of their bed. She idly thought that it would be the one and only time, these captain's quarters would ever see pink satin sheets. She figured that the sheets were probably Deanna's idea. The beribboned gigantic basket of a galaxy's assortment of marital aids, that was located on a nightstand, was undoubtedly their wedding present from a certain Betazed ambassador.

Remnants from their midnight supper were on the other nightstand.

Her husband caressed her hip.

"Again? Already?" She caressed him back.

"Soon," he whispered, quite pleased that she was still desirous of him. Not that he was a man without some vanity, but he was gratified to discover that he must be doing something right.

She captured his hand and brought it to her lips. "I like it when you touch me." She lowered his hand to where she wanted it to be. "I like it, very much."

He laughed.

She stopped petting his chest.

"What's so funny?"

"I used to have erotic dreams of you in my bed, under a canopy of stars…"

"A honeymoon on board the Enterprise…" she added, remembering certain fanciful thoughts from KesPrytt.

"One of my favorite fantasies. Though I find the reality to be far better."

"Me, too," she agreed.

"Beverly, I have a confession to make."

"Confess away, my darling."

"I am in love with you."

"That's a good thing for a bride to know."

"I've been in love with you for decades."

"I know. But I must admit it took me a while to admit to those feelings myself."

"I'm in love with you, Beverly." He picked up her hand and kissed her palm. "But I must confess, mon coeur, I am also in lust with you as well."

"Oh. Well, we must do something about that. Since I'm in lust with you too."

"Serendipity," he whispered against her lips. "Let me see if I can recall some of your favorite fantasies from KesPrytt."

She shuddered from the consequences of his slow exploring. For he had discovered particularly sensitive spots.

"Irresistible," he whispered against her skin, before Beverly claimed him in a deeply passionate kiss.

They both gave themselves up to the rapture that each alone could create in the other.

Million-credit legs entrapped his body, as he nestled against her bosom. For a while, he just breathed her perfume mingled with the essence of her. He relaxed against her, marveling at the sensations swelling within his breast as he held his woman in his arms. He could never ever remember feeling this completely happy before - except perhaps, in a dream called Kataan.

"That was…" she sighed, when her breathing calmed a bit.

"All, or part of it?"

"Looking for compliments, Jean-Luc?"

"Nonsense."

She responded with actions. Not words.

"Beverly…" His voice was languid, liquid silk, flowing with satisfaction as they moved together.

"What?" She matched his mood. "You want to make a complaint?"

"No…."

Beverly did something exquisite.

After a while both would admit that all was right with their universe when they held each other in their arms.

He gazed upon her.

"Ah, Beverly. I've waited a life time for you…"

Beverly sighed with happiness.

And then she casually asked, "What did Holt mean by your blocking my transfers? What transfers?"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

The next time Will Riker saw the married couple, it would be brought to their attention that certain drunken admirals as well as certain officers and a brother, had indeed tried to have a shivaree during their wedding night, in the corridor outside of the honeymooning couple's quarters.

The fact that neither Beverly or Jean-Luc had noticed the cacophony would be testimony to their great love for each other.

Either that, or Jean-Luc requesting of Geordi, right after the possibility of this shivaree became apparent, that Commander LaForge add considerably more soundproofing to his quarters even whilst they were getting married.

Geordi considered this to be part of his wedding gift.

Will did give the newly-married admirals, a cowbell as a remembrance.


	19. FEDERATION DAY

CHAPTER 19: Federation Day

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Captain William T. Riker could only shake his head in bemusement as he watched Wesley rake another pile of chips toward himself. He had warned Wes about winning too much against Admiral Wiley, but Wes apparently was ignoring his advice. There was a first time for everything…

"Cadet, you're a very lucky young man," Holt commented as he poured himself another glass of the cabernet that he'd snagged from the wedding party. Of course, the tone of his voice implied something quite different.

Wesley ignored the hidden warnings.

"Actually, I'd prefer to think that I am a credit to my instructors," Wesley answered.

"Tutors?" Alynna Nechayev held out her empty wine glass to Holt. She'd be meeting up with Deanna much later.

"Me," a voice announced from the doorway.

Holt twirled in his chair to see who it was that dared interrupt this sacred tradition. "Get out of here!" Holt yelled.

"Nice to see you too, Whinny," Kate Pulaski answered back as she pulled up a chair to the poker table.

"There's no room for you," Holt argued, as he blew cigar smoke in her direction.

"Of course there is," Woody delightedly replied. "There's always room for my favorite doctor at a poker game. It's been years since I fleeced you, Kate."

"Your memory's going in your old age, Woody. Come and see me in sickbay before you leave. I'll try and find a cure. As I recall, I was the one who whip tied and sheered you at our last game."

"Seven card stud can be played, but no Federation Day or wild cards may be called," Worf proclaimed as he handed the deck to Kate. "Good to have you back on board the Enterprise, Kate."

Suddenly, Winston Holt Wiley started sputtering. "Since when did I assign you back to the Enterprise?"

"You didn't." Kate grinned. It had a somewhat malicious styling to it. "The new CMO of Starfleet Medical did."

"She isn't on duty yet!"

"Beverly made an exception in my case." She glanced over at Will. "I'd have been here sooner, but Kyle made me late. It seems that allergies to wedding cake run in the Riker family. Like father, like son."

Will inwardly groaned, but Kate heard him anyway. "Don't worry, Will. Your little gaffe at the wedding ceremony hasn't reached the Beta quadrant - yet."

Holt turned to Will. "I can demote her if you want, Captain Riker. Might give you an edge when you try to control her."

Will laughed, rather amused by Holt's offer. "Actually, Holt, I don't need an edge with Kate anywhere else but the poker table. The lady and I understand each other quite well."

"Thank you, kind Sir," Kate retorted as she moved to deal out the cards that she'd just shuffled.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Alynna stated as she tapped Kate's hands. "My momma once gave me some advice. You should give everyone the benefit of the doubt. At least once. But always cut the deck especially when a momma is dealing."

Alynna cut the deck. "Nothing personal, Kate."

Kate returned the courtesy by adding, "I hope that you will feel that way when I clean your clock." She glanced about the table which consisted of Alynna, Holt, Will, Wesley, Woody, Worf, Data and herself. "Guts. Jacks or better to open." She glared at Holt. And only the winner gets to smoke a cigar. I myself, am partial to those cigars from Cubana II…"

Holt visibly brightened at her words. But his hopes were dashed when it was Wesley who threw the first bet into the pot.

"I don't smoke," Wesley commented to the table, in general.

Will shook his head, again wondering if Wesley had a death wish.

"So, Mr. Dah-ta, how goeth your quest towards becoming human?" Kate innocently asked.

"I have not made that much progress, Captain Pulaski." Data paused as he looked at his cards. Then he dropped one hundred credits into the pot. "But I have learned how to clean clocks…"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Hours later, the head of Starfleet command was startled when he stepped into his guest quarters. He was somewhat two sheets to the wind thanks to Will's Alaskan whiskey and the Picard cabernet. He would soon discover in the morning that mixing the two alcoholic drinks was not a wise idea…

He'd just come from serenading Beverly and Jean-Luc with cowbells and frying pans. And the thought of his bed was somewhat appealing.

But a naked Lwaxana had other ideas.

"Lwaxana…" For once, Holt didn't know what to say.

She warily eyed him. "My dear Whinny, though our little tete-a-tete in the utility closet was a lot of fun, I thought that you realized it was only a mere entr'acte - an appetizer as it were, for the main event."

Holt sat down on the edge of the bed where she was reclining. "My dear, of all the things that I imagined doing in my lifetime, dancing at Jean-Luc Picard's wedding was not one of them. You - were another. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much use to you at the moment."

Lwaxana sat up and sidled under the covers. "No matter. There's always tomorrow."

Wiley considered his options. "I'm going to go clean up." He sighed. "And then, I'll join you."

"Don't bother putting on pajamas," Lwaxana advised as she watched him walk away.

He wasn't a 'keeper', but he'd be fun to play with for a little while…

The next morning, Holt awoke to the sight of Lwaxana in a black chiffon, very frilly and zaftig peignoir set. She'd prepared a breakfast of pastries, juice and coffee. And in her hand she was holding a hypospray loaded with all sorts of hangover cures. The hypospray was from her only personal collection, for she was an expert when it came to what worked for curing hangovers.

After Holt had cleaned up, and enjoyed the attention of his ministering angel, they finally sat down to enjoy their breakfast.

"Whinny, darling, there is something on your mind. What is it?"

Guessing that it would be very hard to keep anything from Lwaxana, Holt tightened his regal burgundy robe with the golden epaulets on his shoulders, about him, and then remarked, "Wesley Crusher. That cadet has been acting like an idiot around me."

"Just because you lost to him at poker..."

"I don't hold that against the young pup. It's the way that I lost to him last night - as if he didn't care that he was besting the head of Starfleet. I've admirals that have never won a hand against me in poker. Even Jean-Luc when he was a mere Lieutenant Commander and we played poker for the first time, was not that nonchalant when he beat me. Jean-Luc was scared shite..., er, silly. Even though Jean-Luc still played his hands to win. This young pup was not scared. Not scared at all."

"I agree, Holt."

At the use of his favorite name, Holt smiled warmly at Lwaxana, and not for the first time, wondered why he'd ever feuded with the lady over the years.

"So?"

"All I can tell you is what I felt from the boy. Wesley's confused. He doesn't know where he belongs, right now..."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Mmmmmm…"

"You sound contented," Will whispered as he played with the ebony curls resting on his shoulder. Considering all the moods his Imzadi had displayed during the past day and night, he was still somewhat surprised that Deanna had pulled him into her quarters when he'd walked her home.

"It could always be like this you know…"

Will stiffened. "Deanna, I truly did not mean to insult you. The words just didn't come out the way I had intended them too."

"Will, dear, you're just lucky I am not a Freudian psychotherapist."

Will gulped at this thought.

"I forgive you," she airily announced even as she rolled over so that she was now resting on top of him. "But only because you were kind enough to invite me to your shivering. That was fun, though I am disappointed that Jean-Luc didn't make an appearance." She bestowed on him one of her maddonaesque smiles. "However, from what I was sensing, though I did try to tune Beverly and Jean-Luc out, they were engaged in just the sort of activity one might expect on a honeymoon."

She kissed his chin.

"I must admit I'm seeing a whole new side to Jean-Luc."

"And not for Beverly?"

He turned a little red. "I, uh…"

Deanna patted his very hairy chest. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Will. Now that Beverly is married the only thing that she will be to you from now on, is a friend - and a fond memory."

Will pulled her closer. "That's what I like about you Betazeds. You are so understanding."

"Only about ex-lovers. Marriage, on the other hand…"

Will gulped again.

Deanna sat up, knowing that Will would appreciate the view. "You're sober."

"I'm the captain." And for the first time, Will began to really understand what being a captain meant. Staying sober when everyone else around you is drinking is one of those things that a captain just had to do. But then he focused all of his concentration on his lovely, naked Deanna. "And you're not tipsy?"

"Well, I did have a few drinks with Alynna before I joined you and Admiral Wiley."

"Deanna, Mr. Homm and your Mother can drink just about everyone in the universe under the table. You, however…"

"I know." She decided to recline again, on top of Will's nude body. She nuzzled his throat. "I guess I can write this night off as a slightly drunken indiscretion." She started kissing him in earnest.

"Wait a second. You have to drink before we…"

"Shut up, Will," she advised.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Sixteen duty shifts later, Jean-Luc left his bride sleeping. When he wasn't making love to her or talking to her, or laughing with her, he felt restless. Unsettled. So, he quietly dressed in his olive silk shirt and tan jodhpurs and left his quarters, heading for the Holosuites on Deck 11.

He took the long way to the holosuite, thinking as he walked, acknowledging to himself that in only a few days he would be leaving the Enterprise behind. They were not heading directly to Earth after leaving the Enterprise. Beverly had arranged some sort of extended honeymoon, though she hadn't been too forthcoming about the details to him. He assumed that the reason as to why Beverly had not told him too much was because he'd been too busy finishing off the details to his life as a captain.

Calling up his favorite riding program, Jean-Luc entered the holodeck. He was in the process of checking the saddle on his favorite Arabian mare when he heard the doors swoosh open. Turning, he was surprised to see his brother standing there, wearing riding clothes as well.

"Jean-Luc." Robert looked about with curiosity. "Beverly told me where you were. I gather that you're tired of your bride already?

Sighing, but not wishing to instigate a fight, Jean-Luc truthfully replied, "No." His grin was irrepressible as he added, "The lady is just resting. I fear that I tired her out. And now, I just felt like riding. Care to join me?"

Robert looked about and realized that the sunny valley scene was somewhat familiar. "Loire Valley - the wilderness about Château de Chenonceau?"

"Oui. From about four hundred and fifty years ago. When I ride, I do not care to see power grids about the château."

Robert sniffed. "It's almost as if we are really there." He sniffed again. "It would be better that we were there, than to be standing in this technological abomination."

Knowing better than to revive a very old argument with his brother, Jean-Luc carefully chose his words. "Give it up, Robert. I know it is not the real thing, but it is an acceptable substitute- at least on board a starship lightyears from Earth." He mounted his white mare and then looked down at his brother. "Now, I am going riding. Do you wish to join me? Because if you are here only to complain, you'll be arguing with yourself."

"You have a very negative opinion of me, little brother." Robert looked about. "Well, point me in the direction of the stable. I need a mount."

Jean-Luc chuckled, realizing that his brother didn't quite understand the mechanics of the holodeck. "Computer, create a horse suitable for my older brother to ride." He paused and asked, "You do still ride, don't you Robert?" Robert nodded. "Computer, create a docile gelding." Before Robert could protest, he added, "And equal to my horse."

Moments later, Robert was astride a bay thoroughbred gelding, trying to act as if riding a computer-generated horse was an every day occurrence to him.

"You wished to speak with me?" the younger brother queried, after they walked their horses for a while about a sylvan glen with a burbling stream.

"Not really," Robert grumpily replied, not wanting to admit that he was impressed by the computer-generated scenery. Finally he admitted, "Marie…"

"Ah yes, Marie. She is a most remarkable lady, Robert. Far too good for you."

"I could say the same about Beverly."

"And I would agree," Jean-Luc quickly replied.

"Well, that is one thing that we have in common, petit frère."

"What?"

"You're no fun, either. Just like me."

Jean-Luc did not respond for a moment. Then, he observed, "Beverly would testify otherwise."

"Wives are supposed to - at least the good ones. And as much as it does amaze me, little brother, your Beverly is a good woman."

He was quick to take umbrage. "Why does it amaze you that Beverly is a good woman? What kind of woman did you think I'd marry?"

"That not what I meant and you know it, Jean-Luc. To tell you the truth, considering your advanced age and attitude toward traditions not to mention matrimony, I never considered the possibility that any woman would be willing to marry you." He eyed his brother. "Though at least your wedding ceremony was one of which Father would have approved."

A few years ago, Jean-Luc might have considered his big brother's words as an invitation for fisticuffs. Instead, he chuckled, thoroughly confounding Robert. "There was a time when you would have been speaking the truth, Robert. But, when I returned home three years ago, I began to analyze my life in contrast to the one that you share with Marie. And I found my own life wanting."

"Captain of a great starship and you were missing something?"

"Yes, Robert. I was."

"Mon Dieu, petit frère - could you not have at least tried to tell Father?. You gave great distress to our Father."

"Father wanted his sons to replicate his life - not have one of our own. I hope that you will not repeat the same mistake with your own son."

"Maybe I should if Rene turns out as well as you did."

Jean-Luc halted his mare. "What?"

"You heard me, Jean-Luc. You really should have invited us on board one of your starships years ago. Perhaps if I'd actually seen one when Father was still alive, I might have sided with you."

"I did invite you, Robert. Often. But you never answered."

"When Father was alive, he would not let us."

"And after Father died?"

Robert deeply sighed. "We could spend years arguing over this matter."

"We have spent years, Robert."

"But I think that you have better things to do than to fight with your elder, wiser brother. Or, at least you should."

Jean-Luc ruefully smiled. "You are right, of course. This time. So, Robert, tell me. Why are you really here?"

"Marie made me come."

He contemplated his brother's statement. "Well, I've never doubted that you were an honest man, Robert."

"And because I wanted to come," Robert stated with indignation. "And because I wished to tell you something of great importance to me."

"Which is?" Jean-Luc resignedly asked.

"I approve."

Jean-Luc paused for a moment before he quietly asked, "Of what?"

"What you have made of yourself, mon petit frère. Of what you have accomplished. Granted, one cannot compare making a superb wine to being a starship captain…" Robert's voice softened. "But, what you have done with your life is quite remarkable. I believe that I finally understand why you chose the path that you did. And so, I approve."

Taken back by his brother's admission, Jean-Luc nodded. And then whispered, "Merci, Robert." He was stunned by his brother's words. And he was more pleased by his brother's words than he would ever admit.

Somehow, though, Robert sensed this. "Besides, Jean-Luc, you would only have been a mediocre vintner. Your eyes were always wandering to the stars. Somehow, I believe that your ego would never permit you to settle for being mediocre at anything. At least your being a starship captain was something that you did very well." Judging by the stunned expression on his little brother's face, Robert knew that Jean-Luc had understood his surprising words. "Now, if you point out which way to the Château's stable, I will race you, mon petit frère." 

With a considerably lightened heart, Jean-Luc lost the race to his brother. But only by a nose.


	20. FAREWELL MY LOVELY

CHAPTER 20: FAREWELL MY LOVELY

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Wesley was smiling. It was a big smile, because for the first time in a very long time, he was happy. For Captain William Riker had formally asked if Cadet Crusher would like to work a few duty shifts - at the conn position. And the cadet cheerfully agreed.

It had been a long time since Wesley had done something that had felt so right. Bridge duty - this was what he had really missed. And the only thing that was sort of odd about doing it was the fact that it was now Captain Riker instead of Picard.

It had been a quiet duty shift on board the Enterprise's bridge. This was something that Wesley could appreciate as memories of battling the Borg intruded. And then a sudden thought crossed his mind. Maybe the Borg was one of the reasons why he'd never really connected with his fellow cadets. He'd faced the worst and had survived. None of the cadets in his class even came close to knowing what he had experienced.

The turbolift doors whooshed open on the bridge.

"Captain."

Will Riker stood to greet the Fleet Admiral as he entered the bridge. The admiral was wearing a uniform of his own design. It had a lot of gold braid on it. But underneath it all was a uniform as basic as the one that Will was wearing.

After the Admiral shook Will's hand, he looked about the bridge. And saw Wesley. He paused for a moment before brightly saying, "Captain Riker, I just wanted to see how well the chair fit you."

"It fits just fine, Sir."

Wiley laughed. "It had better. Took Commander LaForge most of the night to get the measurements right."

"What?"

"Something I've always insisted on for my captains. That their chairs should always be custom fit specifically for them. Just a subtle way of reminding the rest of the bridge officers whose chair it really is."

"I see. Thank you, Sir."

"Captain Riker, may I use your ready room?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Good." He turned and ordered, "Cadet Crusher, follow me."

Knowingly shaking his head, Will Riker motioned for another officer to come over and take the conn position.

It was to Wesley Crusher's credit that the cadet did not hesitate to obey the admiral's order.

Once inside the ready room, Cadet Crusher stood by the door, waiting for the admiral to declare his intentions.

Captain Riker had only made a few changes to the room so far. Admiral Wiley wandered about noting the lionfish. But the rest of the décor was rather sparse. Apparently Captain Riker had not really had the time to decorate. Though there was a trombone resting on a stand in the corner by the desk.

Finally, Admiral Wiley looked over at Wesley as if he were just remembering that he'd ordered the cadet to follow him.

Admiral Wiley sat in the captain's chair behind the desk and motioned with his hand for Wes to sit opposite of him.

"Cadet Crusher…"

"Yes, Sir?"

"What's the matter with you?"

"Uh…nothing, Sir."

"I disagree." Wiley just smiled. "You're a senior cadet, but you're not a cadet in your heart. You've already experienced being an officer on board the Enterprise."

Wesley hadn't a clue as to what he should say.

Wiley continued. "I've reread your record, Cadet. I do not doubt that if you were to take all the final exams based on knowledge and skill, you could qualify to graduate from the Academy tomorrow. More than one officer on this ship, and quite a few of your professors have labeled you as a genius. I happen to agree with them."

"I don't feel like a genius, Sir."

"I know. You don't act like one, either. That's to your credit, too." Wiley harrumphed. "So what am I to do with you?"

"Sir, I…"

Wiley interrupted him. "You don't know. And neither do I."

"Sir?"

"Cadet, do you want to be a Starfleet officer?"

"I, uh, really don't know, Sir. A week ago, I'd have really wondered if I belong at the Academy at all..."

"But now that you're back on board the Enterprise, you feel differently."

"Yes, Sir. I remember what it was like to be an ensign, here."

"And that's part of the problem, isn't it? The Borg made you grow up too fast. Your experiences at that conn chair matured you in ways that none of your fellow cadets have yet to comprehend. You weren't green when you came to the Academy. And you're not green now." Wiley paused, studying the cadet before him. "You can't forget that you once pushed a button that would have killed over one thousand people if fate had not intervened."

"One thousand, one hundred and forty-three - including my mother." Wesley corrected the admiral.

Wiley nodded. "So, what am I to do with you? I don't want to lose you. Starfleet needs good men like you. Officers like you. But if you don't want to be an officer, then there is no point in keeping you."

"I don't know what I want, Sir."

"And I don't either, Wesley Crusher." Wiley picked up an Inuit stone carving of a polar bear on Riker's desk and played with it for a while, as if he were contemplating something else. "You have gumption. What you did by cutting in during that wedding dance, not to mention all the hands that you won last night, tells me that you've got courage. But that you can be rather stupid too." Wiley bestowed upon Wesley one of his best, inscrutable smiles. "I'm not angry with you for what you did, Cadet. When Jean-Luc first won at poker against me, he was a mere lieutenant commander. He impressed me then. You have one-upped Jean-Luc by about eight years. I played a few poker hands with Jean-Luc, and I ended up deciding that Jean-Luc had what it takes to be captain of the flag ship. You - you know, I'm curious to see what kind of officer you'll be when you use your head and your heart at the same time. You could become greater than your step-father."

Wesley didn't know what to make of the admiral's words. Was he being complimented or condemned?

"I've decided, Cadet."

"Uh, yes, Sir?"

"I want you to finish. I also want you to think. About everything - yourself, your goals and what you actually want to do with your life." He paused and studied the young man before him. His gut was telling him that the Federation could not afford to lose this cadet. "If, after this next term ends, you wish to leave the Academy, I will grant you a leave of absence. You'll take all the final exams that you need to take in order to graduate. I'm sure you'll pass. But I won't award you a commission just yet. You have to actually want it before it is granted." Wiley stood and went to the replicator and ordered some coffee. He did not offer to get anything for Wesley. Then he returned to his chair. "So, go, do whatever it is that you have to do. Even if it takes a year, ten years, or more. When you return, even if I'm not around, I'll make sure that the door is always open for you if you decide to return. Your commission will be waiting for you. You have options now, And it won't hurt your future Starfleet career - unless you do something really stupid like joining the Orion Syndicate - or beating me at poker again."

Wesley's eyes widened when he realized just what Admiral Wiley was offering. "Uh, Sir. Thank you. I will do what you suggest."

"Good. Dismissed."

After Cadet Crusher left, Wiley smiled. The admiral had a gambling nature. And he bet with himself that Jack Crusher's son would graduate with the rest of his class. And at the top of his class.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

The laughter was polite, restrained and constrained, as if the senior bridge officers attending the new captain's mess didn't quite know what to say to each other - and to the newly-married couple that were the captain of the Enterprise's guests of honor.

Only four days after the wedding, Will Riker was hosting Jean-Luc and Beverly's farewell dinner.

Jean-Luc Picard tried not to make it obvious as to how out-of-sorts he was feeling by not sitting in his customary chair. He felt very strange being a guest of the captain of the Enterprise.

Even Ludvig, his personal chef for the past seven years was sniffling as he supervised the serving of the dinner. For Jean-Luc had invited him to return to Starfleet Headquarters with him. And the man was joining him back in San Francisco.

Beverly was cognizant of Jean-Luc's mixed feelings, for she was feeling something similar too. But ever focused on their future, she tried to ease her husband's troublesome feelings.

"So, Will," she asked loud enough so that the whole table would hear, "have you met your new CMO?"

Will put down his dinner fork, momentarily ignoring the faux turkey on his plate. "Kate Pulaski has cheerfully rejoined the Enterprise crew. I understand that there was some cajoling required by certain officers who shall remain nameless."

Picard snorted. "You don't woo that lady. You give her direct order - but you'd better make it the exact opposite of what you really want her to do."

"I never have that kind of problem with Kate - or with women." Ignoring Picard's restrained sputters, Will continued, "Besides, I like Kate. She's honest. Opinionated. Forthright. And, she keeps Kyle from annoying me too much. She also saved my life." Will pointedly looked at Jean-Luc. "She saved your life, as I recall."

"Harumph," Picard muttered under his breath.

It didn't help matters any that Beverly added, "Well, I like Kate. Everything I've ever heard about her confirms my belief that she once was a great CMO for the Enterprise. And now, she will be again."

"Sorry to interrupt, Captain," Kate blithely stated, breezing into the observation lounge where the dinner was being held. "My ears are burning." She pointedly looked at Picard. She then stopped next to Beverly's chair. "Doctor, when you get a chance, I need to go over a few things with you before you leave."

"Of course," Beverly quickly agreed.

Sensing that Admiral Picard was about to say something that perhaps he shouldn't, Deanna intervened. "Won't you sit down, Doctor?"

"Nope." She added with just a dash of vinegar, "Don't worry, Admiral Picard. I can't stay, though I am sure that you would like me to do so."

Will stood. "Nonsense, Kate. Please be seated. I insist."

"Can't. Kyle's waiting. And since he is leaving in the morning… I trust that you will come and say your farewells, Will?"

"Of course," Will reluctantly agreed.

"Presumptuous woman!" Picard remarked, after Kate left. "Consider yourself forewarned, Will."

"Yes, Admiral," Will patiently responded.

"I find Kate Pulaski to be an uncommon woman. She would be worthy of a Klingon warrior if she wished it," Worf loudly announced.

Beverly turned and eyed her son, seated by her other side. He'd been nodding his head to Worf's words. "Wesley, I have this feeling that you omitted some details in those few sub-space letters that you sent to me the last time I was stationed at Starfleet Command. You never really mentioned that much about Kate Pulaski in them."

"Uh…" Wesley started to say.

Deanna decided to intervene again. She brightly asked, "And have you decided where you're going to go on your honeymoon?"

Glad for Deanna's intervention, Wesley sent Deanna a look of appreciation.

Beverly only sighed. She'd corner Wesley in private. Then she answered Deanna's question. "Once the Enterprise drops us off at Starbase 56, we'll catch the Risian cruise ship, the Princess Ardella." Beverly explained their itinerary to one and all, including her husband who was learning of it for the first time. She heard him grumbling under his breath, "Risa!" With a knowing grin, she leaned over and whispered into her beloved's ear, "There is a stop at Sarona VII."

Jean-Luc's eyes widened in surprise.

Beverly continued, "Four or five planets in three weeks. It's up to us which we'll see. We can set our own pace. And then it is on to Earth where we will have to look for housing." Beverly's eyes lit up with anticipation. "I've always wanted to go searching for my new home. I mean, how often does any Starfleet officer get a chance to chose her own quarters?"

Picard groaned for a moment, then with a deliberate casualness regretfully mentioned, "I guess I never told you that my Great-Aunt Adele left me a house in San Francisco."

"A house?"

He nodded.

"I see."

From her reaction, Picard recognized that he would be having a very particular private conversation with Beverly.

Soon.

"Isn't it a pity that Wesley and Admiral Picard's family have to leave so soon?" Deanna asked with a determined lightheartedness, of no one in particular. "Why didn't Robert and Marie join us, Will?"

It was Beverly who answered. "Well, Lt. Barclay is giving Rene a tour of engineering."

Wesley muttered under his breath, "And that will take all night if he answers all of Rene's questions."

Beverly added, "Marie told me that coming to the Enterprise was the first time she has ever been able to get her husband away from the vineyards since Rene was born. They both need a little vacation time together."

"And my brother is introducing Marie to the joys of the holodeck. And, not quite to my surprise, I believe he chose my LaBarre program."

There was an awkward silence as the polite conversation then collapsed.

Deanna tried again. "Admiral, I especially like your nephew, Rene. I do believe that one day he is going to serve on board the Enterprise, following in your footsteps." Deanna drank some wine to fortify herself. "Or, is it nephew? I found your word play game, Admiral Picard, to be a charming notion."

"I agree." Jean-Luc Picard looked at every familiar face seated about the table. "All of you, please call me by my first name." He glanced over at Will. "And I want all of you to know that if you ever need any help, whether it be for the Enterprise, or for yourselves, you have only but to ask."

Will stood and picked up his goblet. "Thank you, Jean-Luc Picard." He lifted his glass. "To Beverly and Jean-Luc! As the Vulcans would say, live long and prosper!"

Will, Worf, Data, Geordi, Deanna, Data and Wesley drank to the newly married couple.

After a caramelized flan with real, airponics raspberries was served for dessert, Riker stood again.

"Beverly, Jean-Luc…" He respectfully nodded at them. "… as the new captain, I am hereby starting my own traditions for the Enterprise - especially when it comes to the two of you. And this new tradition demands that you have at least one more farewell party before you leave. There is a group of well-wishers waiting for you in Ten-Forward."

Picard, even though he plastered a polite smile on his face, mentally groaned. The last thing he wanted was more people reminding him that he was leaving his Enterprise…

But then, this lounge was hailed by Ensign Gates. "Incoming message for Admiral Jean-Luc Picard."

"I'll take it in my ready room," was Picard's automatic response. Then he corrected himself. "Rather, the captain's ready room."

He left the lounge after kissing Beverly's cheek, trying to contain the tumultuous emotions that he was feeling from Deanna. He realized that he had not succeeded, when Deanna came after him.

"Counselor, I do not need your help."

"Jean-Luc…"

He strode down the corridor a few steps but knew that this determined Betazed would not give up. He sighed and conceded his position to the lady. "At least, I do not need your help right now. But I will speak to you before we leave, if I may?"

"All right, Jean-Luc. Since you are no longer part of my official concern, I'll abide by your wishes and see you in a little while." She turned around. The panels to her deep ruby glittering evening dress flowed about her ankles. She walked away from him somewhat satisfied that she had at least won this round. Suddenly she grinned as she caught Jean-Luc's parting thought as the man watched her sashay away. Senior female officers were going to have to add to their civilian dress wardrobes now that Will Riker was captain. For the man certainly appreciated the ladies in their evening dresses…

Jean-Luc considered the lovely vision that Beverly was tonight, wearing a long, shantung Wedgwood blue sheath style dress. He perked up. Maybe Will was on to something…

Reaching Will's ready room, he turned on the view screen and was pleased to see a cheerful Admiral Brand.

"Admiral, it is good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Jean-Luc. The sooner you get here, the happier I'll be. I've got an autobiography to write, and great-grandchildren that need a babysitter. And after babysitting cadets, I think that I've had enough hands-on training to deal with the terrible twos." She raised her hand. "But first, go off and enjoy your honeymoon."

"If duty calls…"

"No one in Starfleet, least of all me, expects that much devotion to duty other than to yourself. Enjoy, Jean-Luc. Honeymoons are times for the making of precious memories. They only happen once."

"Thank you, Admiral. I actually do agree."

"And about your suggestion - I approve. If you can arrange it then do so. Brand out." With that, the transmission was cut.

Sighing, Jean-Luc glanced about the ready room one more time. And then walked toward Ten-Forward, idly wondering what Will had arranged for Beverly and himself, that he must now endure…


	21. ADIEU, ADIEU, ADIEU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: I'm having a hard time finishing this novel off. I really don't want to leave. But the end is near. I promise.

CHAPTER 21: Adieu, Adieu, Adieu

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"It's about time that you arrived." Beverly greeted her husband with a kiss to his cheek. "Everyone is waiting for you to join us."

Jean-Luc looked about the packed Ten-Forward, and grumbled, "Will Riker's doing, no doubt." But he knew how to act properly too, in spite of his personal inclinations. Picard clasped Beverly's hand, raised it up to his lips, and kissed her wedding rings again, much to the approval of the crowd. Beverly was beginning to discover that she liked having a romantic man as a husband. He'd hidden this side of himself from her for too long.

Sighing, she held her husband's hand, as Will stepped forward.

"All of us know that you both requested no wedding presents. But you really didn't think that we'd let you leave the Enterprise without a few remembrances, now did you?"

Will smiled his 'smile number one'. It was his most charming and disarming smile.

This was never a good sign to Picard. He inwardly groaned.

"Behave," Beverly whispered.

Her husband whispered back, "And what if your lady friends brought more lingerie?"

She turned pink at this thought of unmentionables and their missing parts. "They wouldn't."

"If Riker dared them?

Beverly turned pinker.

Will pretended not to notice the whispering. He nodded at Mr. Data. Data stepped forward. And then motioned toward an easel that had been hidden by some of the crowd. Data lifted off the oil cloth to display his wedding present.

"Admirals, the oils are still wet, so I do not recommend shipping this painting until they are dry. I will send it to you as soon as it is safe to do so. However, I wished for you to see it before you left."

Both admirals gasped as the oil on canvas was revealed.

Data continued talking. "I tried to emulate a style of realism."

Beverly and Jean-Luc stared in amazement at Data's painting. For the android had painted a group portrait of all the senior officers standing on the bridge. He had painted it in a true-to-life style. Yet…

Picard stepped forward, critically analyzing the painting, even as he admired it. He fingered the frame. "You are a far better artist than I will ever be, Mr. Data."

"You find my attempt to be pleasing?" Data still sounded unsure of his efforts.

"Yes, Data. We both do." Beverly stepped forward slipping her arm around her husband's elbow. "I think I can safely say for both of us that we will treasure your effort for the rest of our lives."

"It's wonderful, Mr. Data. It takes my breath away." Jean-Luc Picard spoke softly, still surprised by Data's present as well as by the skill with which it was rendered. "I am truly touched," he added as he moved a little closer to the painting. "The way you captured the soul of everyone in your painting. It is truly amazing." Something glinted in the former captain's eye.

"I am glad that you are pleased," Data agreed.

"We are very pleased," Beverly added, before she walked over to the android and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

It was Deanna who came forward next. She motioned toward a table.

Standing next to it, Reginald Barclay nervously announced. "It's from all of us in Engineering."

But it was Geordi LaForge who went to the table to reveal the present.

It was a crystalline sculpture in the shape of the Enterprise, 1701-D. It was about 90 centimeters in length. The floating ship was tethered to a base holding the anti-grav unit. It had lots of inset colored gem stones cut from various crystals to highlight the craftsmanship. Geordi explained, "We all worked on this for you, Admirals. It's made from the various crystals and quartz that we use in engineering. Reg designed it."

"Bbbbuttt Geordi came up with the idea, Reg interjected.

"It's beautiful," Beverly whispered as she touched a nacelle. The ship bobbed a bit.

"Thank you, Mr. LaForge. My heartfelt thanks to you, Mr. Barclay and Engineering." Jean-Luc tapped the nacelle too, and smiled as he watched the ship bobble again.

And then Alexander approached the couple. He proudly handed them a scroll. "Marriage wishes," the lad explained. "Everyone on board the ship signed it. It took me four days to gather all the signatures."

Picard accepted the scroll from Alexander. And then smiled up at his proud father who stood behind his son. Picard nodded at the teenager.

"One day, I look forward to being your superintendent at Starfleet Academy, Alexander Rozhenko." Picard nodded at Worf. "I hope to one day be as proud of you as I am of having had the privilege of serving with your father."

Pleased by Picard's words, Worf grunted. Then the father and son stepped away as the new captain of the Enterprise took center stage again. "Admiral Picard and Doctor, Admiral Picard…" From somewhere, Will had snagged a champagne flute filled with sparkling wine. "On behalf of the officers, crewmen, personnel and everyone else on the Enterprise, I thank you. We thank you. Know that we will never forget you. And that you will always have a home here on the Enterprise as long as I am captain." And with a wicked grin, he added. "Oh, and good luck with your marriage, too. You'll need it."

Will then did something that was a rare action indeed on board the ship as well as in Starfleet. He saluted them.

Picard gravely nodded even as he tried to recall the last time anyone had saluted in his presence.

Picard accepted a glass of champagne from a crewman, and then stepped up next to Will Riker. He held out his hand for Beverly to join him.

"Thank you, Captain Riker." The newly-married couple toasted the new captain and his crew.

Beverly guided her husband about as they now did one of his least favorite things - they mingled.

After a while, Jean-Luc found himself facing Kyle Riker. "Your son will be a fine captain, Mr. Riker. You should be very proud of him. I know that I am."

Kyle Riker nodded in agreement. "I am proud of Will - not that he will ever listen to anything that I have to say."

Picard politely smiled. "But in a way, isn't that the nature of the father and son relationship? I know that my own father was not pleased with my choices in life."

"No surprise, there," an unwelcome voice remarked by his ear.

And then Admiral Picard found himself being twisted about and hugged. It was not a dignified experience. He frowned as he stared into the face of the perpetrator - Kate Pulaski. He gave her his best 'death stare' look.

Her response was cheerfully pleasant. "Congratulations, Admiral. May somehow your bride find happiness with you."

The admiral grimaced for a moment, before he donned his best, complacent diplomatic mask. "Thank you, Doctor. I trust that after you bothered to report to your new captain, you were able to handle the transfer of sickbay."

She grinned. Needling Admiral Picard was becoming one of her favorite sports. "Will has already treated me with the respect that I deserve. Especially after I beat the pants off of him in poker last night."

Suddenly, the admiral grinned. "I am finding that surprisingly easy to do when I play poker with him. I am pleased to realize that it was not in deference to my rank that he was losing to me, too."

"I heard you lost to Will the last time you played him."

Picard gave a Gallic shrug. "History is always written by the senior officer when it comes to poker games."

"Ah, your truth finally comes out. I may enjoy annoying you, Admiral Picard. But never doubt that I have always respected you."

"My respect of you is equal to yours of me," he dryly responded.

Behind them, Beverly loudly cleared her throat.

"You can let go of me," Jean-Luc idly remarked.

"I think I'd better. Something tells me that your wife is not a forgiving woman," Kate laughed as she released Beverly's husband.

Then the admiral surprised everyone. He leaned over and kissed Captain Pulaski's cheek. "Take care of Will for me. And my ship," he whispered into her ear.

"Always."

Beverly cleared her throat again. "Thank you for unhanding my husband, Kate."

"He's a little too scrawny for me. I like my men big and brawny." And with this Kate put her arm about Kyle's waist.

Beverly's laugh was a pleasing sound to Jean-Luc's ear.

"Kate, it's time to get to Sickbay," Beverly observed. "There are a few things left to do. And afterwards, would you care to have a cup of tea with me? I might tell you the truth about Will. And whatever else falls under the purview of a captain's exaggerations."

Trying not to display any trepidation as Jean-Luc watched his wife walk off with Kate Pulaski, Picard nodded as Captain Riker joined them.

"My ears are burning," Will Riker remarked as he civilly nodded at his father.

"It's good that we are leaving you soon. No captain should have to deal with the situations that the two of them working together could inspire. But, I think that I have warned you enough about Dr. Pulaski." Riker chuckled. Picard continued. "And you have absolutely no intention of heeding those warnings at all."

"Oh, I can handle Kate," Will observed.

"I am sure that the list is legion of those who have uttered those very same words, Will Riker." He smiled again. Admiral Picard nodded at Kyle Riker. "Sir, Captain Riker and I have matters to discuss. Please excuse us."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

As they walked the long corridor to Sickbay, Beverly casually asked of Kate, "How surprised should I act at this party?"

"What party?" Kate deadpanned.

"Kate, I know my - uh, your staff, too well. I predict Vulcan beer and a German peptide chocolate cake."

"Peptide?"

"It's a joke from a while ago. Get Mr. Data to tell you the whole story."

"Actually, I've already begun reviewing all of your medical logs. I want to try and know everything that I can about my new patients. And staff."

"On the padd in your office is my private commentary about everyone. Aside from the captain, who else has to be dragged into Sickbay to get a physical... Who takes off the holodeck safeties... Who likes cherry lollipops, etc. All of the sort of stuff that shouldn't be mentioned in their official records."

"Beverly, it's a pity you're going over to Starfleet officiousness. Somewhere else, you'd have made a great general practitioner."

"Well, if Starfleet Medical doesn't work out, I can always open up shop on Caldos."

"Caldos?"

"I've a cottage there that I inherited from my Nana."

"Well, if you were looking for a simple life, you wouldn't have married Jean-Luc. That man is not simple."

"That is too true. But I can daydream, can't I, Kate?"

Laughing together both doctors stepped into Sickbay. As expected there was indeed a surprise farewell party for Dr. Crusher.

About thirty minutes later, Beverly was alone in her former office, double checking that she'd left nothing important undone. All of the Sickbay protocols and command had been officially transferred. She looked up as Nurse Ogawa entered, bringing her another glass of beer.

"You don't even have to ask," Alyssa cheerfully remarked as she handed Beverly the beer.

Beverly nodded even as she sipped her beer. "I'm the only one you're trying to get tipsy tonight."

"Hey…" Alyssa grinned. "I can count on one finger the number of times I've seen you tipsy, Dr. Picard."

Beverly suddenly gasped. "That's the first time anyone has called me that." She drank some more beer. "And from now on, please call me Beverly, Alyssa."

"I've always called you Beverly. Just never to your face," Alyssa replied, grinning even more broadly.

"There was something I've been meaning to tell you, Alyssa…"

"There are only so many times one can say thank you," Alyssa interjected.

"True. But personally, I do have to say it again. I could have never done this without you, Alyssa. Thank you." Standing, she came over to Alyssa and hugged her. "I am going to miss you."

"Me too," Alyssa agreed as she tried not to cry. She didn't succeed.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Silently, the admiral and the captain entered the bridge's ready room. The solemnity of the moment was not lost on Will Riker

The admiral quickly glanced about the room to ascertain if he had missed having packed anything of importance. Deciding that he had not, Jean-Luc settled into the proffered guest chair.

"Will." His tone was very cordial.

Will discerned something else as he sat behind his captain's desk.

"I gather that you require something, Admiral?"

Picard slightly smiled at Will's perspicacity. "Yes, Captain. Worf."

"I think I'd better hear you out before I decline, Admiral."

Picard's smile grew a little bit larger. "I would like Lt. Commander Worf to teach a class in Klingon strategies and ethics at the Academy."

"Worf - an Academy teacher?" To Will, it sounded like an incredulous suggestion.

"I want him to teach once every six semesters. That way, every incoming class will encounter Klingon logic at least once. It will stir them up. Expose them to the concept of honorable, alien philosophies. It also might encourage more Klingons into joining Starfleet if they learn about this course. You, better than anyone I can think of, should understand."

"Dammit, I do. I'll tell Mr. Worf."

Picard halted him. "It's an option, Will. I will not order Mr. Worf to come to the Academy. I would never want a contumacious Klingon as an instructor on my staff."

Riker grinned. "Wise decision. For a contumacious Klingon is never a pretty thing."

Both men chuckled together.

Then Captain Riker hit his comm badge. A few minutes later, Lt. Commander Worf entered the ready room.

"You summoned me, Sir?" He addressed his captain after respectfully nodding at the admiral.

"Mr. Worf. Admiral Picard has a proposition for you. You are free to make up your own mind about his offer," Riker formally said.

Admiral Picard then explained.

Worf was torn between feeling pride that his cha'Dich honored him so, and believing that his place was here on the Enterprise.

Picard added, "And as a personal consideration, Alexander can spend more time with his grandparents."

"That would not be possible, Sir. We will be in San Francisco. My parents live in Bobruisk."

"I have already invited the Rozhenkos to come to the Academy, should you accept my offer, Mr. Worf. If you agree, they can stay with me, for I have a large house in San Francisco."

"Your place?" Worf was very uncomfortable with this idea.

"They would have their own apartment." The admiral stood and placed his hand on Worf's shoulder. "We can discuss the details later, if you agree to do this, Mr. Worf."

Worf looked at Riker, torn between his two commanding officers.

After seemingly taking his time to think about it, Will added, "Every Starfleet officer should be exposed to Klingon command techniques and societal philosophies. If they survive, they'll become better, more honorable officers."

"Like the Pagh," Worf noted. He nodded. Then he stood at attention before the admiral. "Agreed."

"It seems you're borrowing a key officer of mine, Admiral," Riker lazily commented, beginning to display the relaxed, easy-going style that soon would become the hallmark of his command.

Picard waited until after Mr. Worf departed before he stated, "Will, I will inform you of the schedule once I get to the Academy."

"Ah yes, after your Risian style honeymoon. Somehow, I knew that you liked the place after your last visit. And now you're going back with Beverly."

"My opinion of Risa has not changed."

"But this time I approve of your choice of companions."

Picard hid his smile as he added, "So do I."

"To tell the truth, Jean-Luc, I was actually picturing someplace with mummifyingly dry heat and lots of dust storms gusting about unexplainable alien ruins as your ideal honeymoon destination."

"That is my idea of the perfect holiday, Will. But Beverly evidently prefers that we go on a more conventional leave. In some matters, she if far more traditional than I." He slightly shrugged. "Besides, after I leave the Enterprise, what does it matter where we go as long as I am with Beverly? I won't be here, after all."

"About that…" Will stood and went into his wash room. He returned carrying a chilled bottle of chardonnay that Robert had given him along with two white wine glasses. As he opened the bottle, he remarked, "For a man caught by such short notice, according to the tale that he tells, your brother was most generous to the wine vault of the new captain of this ship."

Will poured the wine. And handed Jean-Luc his glass.

"No. Not Robert. Thank Marie," Picard explained. "When I first was appointed captain of the Enterprise, I sent a case of champagne to Winston Holt Wiley as a gift. She thought that the bribing of my superior officers with wine should be the norm. She has been doing so, ever since. She may very well succeed if my brother keeps adding to his vineyards."

"So that's the secret of your success."

Picard merely raised an eyebrow as he sniffed his wine, swishing it about the goblet, checking its 'legs'.

"I don't have access to a winery," was Will's semi-serious comment.

"You will have Marie. She's determined to make Château Picard wine, the wine of choice at Starfleet Command."

"I appreciate her efforts."

Picard stood as Will held up his glass. "To us." For a moment, Will considered the toast. And then nodded in acceptance. The rims of the glasses clinked together. Then both men sat down.

"I like Marie," Will observed, trying to remember and understand every nuance of this final, formal meeting. He did not want to say goodbye. His glance landed on the glass cased Works of Shakespeare. "You didn't pack up your book, Jean-Luc."

"It's yours, Will. Shakespeare understood the tenets of the human heart far better than any other Terran writer. That book belongs with the captain of the Enterprise."

Will didn't know that much about book-collecting, but he knew that this book was a rarity. It was valuable.

Jean-Luc raised his hand to silence Will's coming protest. "I would like to think that when I leave, that I am at least leaving a part of myself behind."

Will understood. And accepted the gift. There were so many things that he wanted to say to this man, but he knew it would not be appreciated if he gave voice to all of his sentiments. Still…

"I can't imagine doing this job without you being here," Will observed. "Should I sit behind this desk mumbling 'What would Picard do?' like a first-year cadet mutters about James Kirk? Would that work, do you think?"

Glaring at his former first officer, the admiral poured both of them some more wine. Then he sat back in his guest chair, for he was keenly aware that it was the guest chair, and whispered, "The Enterprise, Will. She is your ship, now. Enjoy yourself." He stood, holding his glass of wine and went to the star portal. He glanced back at the new captain sitting behind his desk. "Did you have any questions about your Captain's Orders?" He was referencing the 'captain's eyes only' padd that he'd given Will.

"Admiral Wiley before he left, insisted on going over every detail with me."

"I see. Whether you care for it or not, you are now one of Wiley's chosen captains, Will. Some days, his favoritism might save this ship. Most of the time though, it will be an annoyance that you will have to accommodate."

"I had noticed how much louder the Mahler became after you took one of Holt's calls."

Jean-Luc nodded. "You will find your own way of dealing with him. But win every once in a while, at poker. Holt disdains toadies."

"I already know that trick, Jean-Luc."

Picard faced the desk, and leaned badk against the portal. "Will, as a friend, may I give you a bit of advice?" Will nodded. "There are some in the Admiralty that tend to view your relaxed command style as a bit unorthodox. Immature, as it were." He shook his head, staying Will as the man jumped to his feet. "When I made you my Number One, I chose you because of it. You were the counterbalance to my rigidity." He took another sip of his wine. "And now, you have Mr. Data to counterbalance your style."

"I never looked at it like that."

"There is something else."

Will only questioned him with a look.

"I chose never to marry as captain of any ship, because it was my belief that a starship captain should not serve two mistresses. However, as far as the Admiralty is concerned, your unmarried status is a sign of irresponsibility."

"What are you trying to tell me, Jean-Luc?"

"Commit yourself to one woman - preferably Deanna."

"I already have, Jean-Luc."

"Then I need say no more."

Will came to stand by him. They were silent for a few moments, as they sipped their wine.

"It is difficult, Will. Even now, I find it quite difficult to believe that I am leaving. I made this choice. But still…"

"It's going to take me a while to get used to being called 'captain'."

"I doubt that," Jean-Luc chuckled.

Will chuckled too.

"Will, that was not just a polite offer that I made earlier. I meant it. If you ever need anything - for this ship or for yourself, you have only but to ask." The former captain of the Enterprise looked about the room one more time, as if to finalize his memories of this place. "Take good care of your Enterprise, Captain Riker. I leave her in good hands." With this, he put down his wine glass and then swiftly left the ready room, not looking back. Ever again.

"Good bye, Captain Jean-Luc Picard," Captain Will Riker whispered.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: According to the episode "The Neutral Zone" the officer's lounge was called the observation deck. Though they did use other phrases interchangeably thoughout all the series. Though in the original series, the observation deck was actually a deck. Anyway, I got to pick one.

CHAPTER 22: Music in the Night…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Ten-Forward was deserted at this time of night. But somehow, he always knew when she was present.

She walked from the darkness into the light, to stand in her traditional position, behind the bar. "Jean-Luc. Come to say your farewells?"

"It's what I've been doing, for the past few days..." He looked about the lounge, bathed in shadows from the lowered night mode lighting. For years, this time of night had been his favorite, for he could sit in the shadows and just feel his ship about him.

"Saved me for last, eh?"

"I hate lengthy goodbyes." Suddenly, he was uncomfortable about being in her presence. Certain things that Beverly had revealed had been preying on his mind, whenever he could catch a breath to think during the past few days.

"Beverly told me that you were related to Q."

"I am."

"You are Q?"

"I suppose I could be, if I wanted to be."

This was sobering news. "You've been playing games with me?"

"Haven't we been playing games for years, Jean-Luc?" She correctly interpreted the instinctive glare he sent her way before he masked it. "When it comes to the important stuff, I have only been guiding you - trying to keep things as they are meant to be. There's a difference, you know."

"Meaning?"

"Jean-Luc, when I could, I presented you with choices." Guinan turned her head to look at the stars for a moment. The side wings to her burgundy colored hat quivered. Her matching dress fluttered a bit. "As with all things here, I could only do so much."

He considered where she had come from - El Aurel. "Even you couldn't stop the Borg?"

"No. Nothing we did..." She glanced at the star again. "Later on, I did everything within my power - but it was to protect. You. Our friends. My friends…" She shook her head, willing the sad memories to remain banished. "I couldn't stop the Borg. Not even our Q could have done that. He would not have been permitted. Even the Q have those to which they must answer."

"So you're really not gods? In spite of Q's propensity for making such declarations?"

"No. In spite of what Q might have told you, some of us are just beings subject to the laws of the universe - albeit we've got a much greater understanding of the temporal laws than you do. We eventually will die, though it might take a millennia or two."

Picard was silent for a while, considering her words. He had a gut instinct that she was revealing more to him than what she had told any other being - human or otherwise. "The dream - from when I was blasted by the Lenarian Dissidents - was it real? What Q did?"

"You owe Q a really big favor, Jean-Luc." She paused for a moment, considering things. "I am rather surprised that he hasn't been aboard recently to crow about it…"

Jean-Luc Picard shook his head giving voice to a new, great fear. "I will not permit Q to inflict himself on the Starfleet Academy. Think of the chaos he would bring…"

"It'll never happen."

"What?"

"Q. Sector One is not his territory."

"What does that mean, Guinan?"

"Q can only play with you, so to speak, when you are in his territory. Earth isn't. Even the Q have boundaries that they must obey."

"But… Other Q have been to Earth."

"Your favorite Q can't. Not in his purview. His covenant, as it were."

Picard considered this. "Interesting." Then he thought of something else. "Well, if Q is not to bedevil me while I am on Earth, what is he going to do?"

"Plague Riker," was her simple response.

Picard almost laughed, rather appreciative of this prospect. "I don't think that I'll warn Will. He might yet refuse the captaincy of the Enterprise."

"And wait till you see what he has in store for Jellico. Knowing what a miserable excuse for a life essence that Q is, he will probably do his questionable best to make sure that Jellico is fully informed as to why he has been blessed by Q's special interest. You're the one who is not around for him to bedevil. When it comes to extended malevolent roguery, few in the Continuum can surpass our Q."

"Jellico and Q? That would be unfortunate, indeed." Picard chuckled. "I think I will give Edward a heads up, though." Picard tried to hide his amusement at the pleasant prospect of Q annoying someone other than himself. Though he did shed a passing thought of sympathy for Captain Jellico.

"Guinan… What would I have ever done without you?" He bowed as if he were a courtier of old, and held her hand, kissing the knuckles in an overly-dramatic fashion.

"It seems that Beverly has had a civilizing influence over you already," Guinan knowingly commented, appreciating his flair. "Whatever. I'll be staying here, by the way." She glanced about Ten-Forward instinctively re-checking its ship-shape readiness, and then stared at Jean-Luc with a fond look of proprietorship glowing in her eyes. "When you need me, you'll know where I'll be. Serving drinks."

"And listening." Picard's mood turned to more serious matters. "I know my reasons for our relationship, Guinan. But, there are times when I never understood your motives for being such a force in my life."

"Who is to say that you ever should or shall…" She reached up and kissed his cheek, then cupped it; lingering as she studied him as if to forever remember the way he looked at this moment. "You shouldn't be talking to an old lady like me when you have more important things to do. So, go and pleasure that lovely bride of yours, Jean-Luc. I'll say my farewell, now. You know how much I hate these sloppy, sentimental scenes." There was a lot more that she could have said to this man, but she knew that it would not be appreciated if it was voiced.

"Guinan, only if they are scenes that you did not personally orchestrate," he observed for he was well aware of her propensity to meddle. But there was something in her eyes - an odd look - that compelled him to question her. "What is it?"

She kissed him again, this time, briefly on the mouth. She was not really attempting to stir old flames; just to remind him of what had once been. "One day, you may have children." She kissed him again, this time now hiding her sense of regret for the passing of their time. "I'm a very good nanny. Johnny."

"Nanny? Children?" Jean-Luc didn't bother to correct her usage of a nickname that he'd outgrown decades ago. And as for children, he suddenly faced that future possibility. And liked it.

"Go." She shoved him towards the door. "Remember, always love Beverly. And remember to be her friend too. Those are my guidelines that are the hallmark of all of my successful marriages. When I remember them, that is."

He refrained from commenting, knowing that such a debate with Guinan would be futile. The lady rarely cared for a fair fight.

"Will I ever learn who you really are?"

"No. Just be glad that I am your friend. Now, go, before I decide to keep you."

When he saw that she was in her untouchable, inscrutable mode with just a touch of attitude, he knew that she would reveal nothing more to him.

"Will you at least visit now and then?" he just had to ask.

"You'll see enough of me to curse my name when I show up."

"Madam Guinan, I have never been quite that discourteous," he rather formally stated.

She cackled. "Go. Before I break out that special bottle of Fine de la Marne brandy that you thought you were hoarding in your former ready room. I've got it now. If I open it, you'll never make it back to Beverly."

This time, he openly glared at her.

"I know, I know. It's Riker's bottle. I'll give it to him at an appropriate moment. When I feel he needs it."

"I trust that you'll tell him it's from me."

"I think he has enough of a Starfleet education so that he can read the name on the label, Admiral." She grinned as she watched him finally go through the lounge doors, shaking her head in amusement for she knew that he had let at least one pet French invective cross over his lips as he had walked away.

"One day, you'll learn who I really am, Jean-Luc Picard. For I am almost your guardian angel…" With that, she grinned her exceptional million latinum bar grin which she reserved for momentous occasions. "And all things considered, I think I've been doing a devil of a good job of it even if I say so myself."

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Wesley hugged him mother as he entered the admirals' quarters.

"Are you all right, Wesley?" The many yards of copper silk to her caftan flowed about her as she embraced her son. In a few short hours, he would be leaving too, taking the Family Picard back to LaBarre. At least she was comforted by the knowledge that they both would soon be living on the same planet…

"I'm okay, Mom."

Beverly released her son and automatically went to the replicator to get two mugs of her ginger tea.

Wesley smiled as he sat next to his mother on the sofa, accepting the tea. Some things never change…

"I thought that you'd have gone over to Earl Grey by now."

"I drink it in the morning, now and then. But unlike Jean-Luc, the caffeine bothers me at night."

Wesley wisely decided to refrain from making any comments about what might keep his mother awake at night. He looked about the room. There were many crates and cases stacked about. Most were already sealed shut.

"Amazing how much stuff one accumulates…" Beverly announced as she sat next to her son and sipped her ginger tea from a regulation mug. For her favorite tea cups had been packed away days ago.

"I placed my money on Jean-Luc having more crates than you when the stuff finally gets transported to Earth," Wesley casually remarked.

Beverly blinked. As a frequent enthusiast of bazaars, promenades and cute, little out-of-the-way establishments, she would have thought that she'd have more storage crates to fill than Jean-Luc. "Mr. Data is running that betting pool?"

"Who else?" He nodded toward a crate. "Almost everyone who is betting has forgotten that the former Captain Picard is an amateur archaeologist. I think that there's half a cargo hold full of his 'finds' alone." He finished off his tea. "And then there are the books…"

Beverly laughed. "Half the crates in this room alone are nothing but books." She sighed. "I'm having it all sent to storage. We'll sort it out when we finally make it back to Earth. I'll need to see how large his house is before I decide what should go where." She put down her mug. "From the little that Jean-Luc has told me, you will have a room of your own if you should care to visit." She eyed her son. And noted his sheepish look. "That is, if you're still at the Academy."

"You heard about my inquisition with Admiral Wiley."

"Jean-Luc hasn't yet inquired about it, but I am sure that he will. News that you were sequestered with the Fleet Admiral in the ready room was about the ship faster than when your Nanites got loose."

So he told her what the Fleet Admiral had proposed. Though even as he left his mother after hugging and kissing her, and promising to see her in the morning, she still didn't quite know what her son had decided to do. That is, if her son had made any decision, yet…

Beverly was still awake when he reached their quarters. Lying in bed, she was trying to appear relaxed as she put aside the Dorothy Sayers' mystery novel that she was reading.

"About this house, Jean-Luc…" Her tone of voice was quiet; seemingly indifferent.

For some reasons Jean-Luc had the sensation of stepping off of a cliff. He chose his words very carefully, even as he tried not to be distracted by the little wisps of flaming red silk nothings that his bride was wearing. "I inherited the house from my great-aunt Adele."

She thought for a moment. "The one with the tasty hot toddy recipe." She looked up, apparently intent upon his every word, watching as he slowly removed his jacket.

"Correct." Picard did his best not to reveal how nervous her steady, blue-eyed stare was making him feel. "Aunt Adele had a recipe for every thing and every one. She was a most remarkable woman." Picard spoke of his aunt with great pride and love, warmly remembering a woman who had smelled of the sweet scent of lavender and who had always had a smile for a young, usually misunderstood lad. She had been a woman who had helped him grow to know his own heart and mind.

"She had married a Californian who had fancied himself a vintner."

Beverly controlled the urge to smile at the French vintner's son inbred sense of prejudice when it came to wines.

"My Uncle Claude was rather wealthy. So he could afford a Napa Valley winery. They had no children, though I believe that she had wanted them. She certainly welcomed me with great affection when I came to visit." He was lost in his recollections for a moment.

Beverly didn't mind the pause for she was admiring her husband's rippling muscles as he stripped down to his grey tank undershirt.

"Her sister, Mathilde, was my granmere. They both were grand, wonderful women; true ladies in the finest definition of the word." He paused for a moment, trying to concentrate, as he made note of the fact that his wife was eyeing his muscles. He relaxed. She wasn't really angry with him. "Eventually, Robert inherited the winery, and I inherited the house in San Francisco. Naturally, Robert sold the winery immediately. It wasn't in France, you see. I, on the other hand, had the house converted into a duplex to be used as a rental property ever since. I don't think I've actually been in the place since it was remodeled." He sat down on the edge of their bed to remove his boots. "Conveniently, both sides are vacant at the moment." He stared at his bride with concern. And with a sense of apology. "Beverly, if you do not care for the house, and to tell you the truth, I can barely recall what it is like myself, for I almost always vacationed at the winery, we do not have to live there if you would prefer otherwise."

"Well, I suppose that I can understand how something as unimportant as owning a house could slip the mind of a dedicated Starfleet officer." She sidled over to her husband to help him remove his regulation tank undershirt. "As for where we actually live, why don't we make that decision after we see what the house is like. Decades of renting it to students has probably altered it a little," she dryly observed. She started tugging at his waist band about to make him an offer she knew he wouldn't refuse.

He permitted her to assist him with his disrobing.

"Come to bed, Jean-Luc."

He was in her hungry embrace in moments. He kissed her thoroughly, enjoying the feel of a loving, wanting Beverly in his arms. He found a sense of rightness in her embrace giving him a peace for his soul, that had heretofore eluded him all of his life. Their kiss deepened.

"Everything's pretty much packed up," she informed her husband between caresses. She relished the effect she was having on her husband. She was determined to teach Jean-Luc her new philosophy of work less, play more during their honeymoon. Considering what he was now doing to her, she decided that she was distracting him rather successfully.

Suddenly he stopped. Sitting up, he looked out the portal at the stars. Finally, he said something. "All I want at this moment…" he stated with an assuredness he was far from feeling.

"Yes, my darling?" Beverly's voice hinted at a few answers to the mysteries of the stars that he loved so long.

"All I want is to listen to the thrum of the engines, this final night that we are on board the Enterprise…"

"Really? That is all?" She rather pointedly displayed her bosom that he had been rather delightfully stroking but a minute earlier.

"And to love you…." He reverently touched a pink tipped mound. "I take it that I have your permission?"

She began to moan again.

"Permission granted."

Hours later, they were still awake. After their loving they had talked. And then spent several hours tossing and turning. Neither one could actually sleep for their time on board the Enterprise was whittling away down to mere hours... Then minutes… Then seconds…

Her husband's flesh was only a few centimeters away from her arm, yet, briefly, Beverly imagined that it was a chasm. It had become their custom to make love at least twice a night when they both were up for it. But tonight, he was thinking about another lover's embrace. And she couldn't fault him for it in spite of a wee touch of jealousy, for it was his last night resting within the bosom of the other love of his life - his starship. She knew that she'd miss the thrum of those damned engines too.

Sighing, she poked her husband in the ribs. "Get up, Jean-Luc."

"What?" He had the good graces not to pretend to have been sleeping.

She stood, ordered the lights up to twenty-five percent, and then crossed over to where one lone case was splayed open. She bent over knowing fully well that her husband might find the view interesting, rummaged about the case for a bit, and turned around to throw at him a dark tee shirt and the pants that he usually wore to the gym. She held up a red tunic length sweater. Picking up a pair of slippers that she had almost stumbled over, she tossed them in his direction. She was grateful that at least both of the slippers had been in the same room. Usually, they were not.

"Get dressed, we're going walking," she ordered.

"Beverly, I don't really care to…"

"Yes, you do," she emphatically ordered.

When his wife used the she who must be obeyed tone of voice, this husband wisely followed his finely honed instinct for matrimonial survival. He got dressed.

Minutes later they were in the turbolift.

"Captain's observation deck," she ordered.

"What?" He was puzzled and he was sure that he looked it.

"I realized that I forgot something up there." She shrugged her shoulders which caused the loose fitting cowl neckline to slide down her arms a little bit.

A minute later they walked into the empty observation deck that was used primarily by the ship's captain for meetings.

"Can you hear the ship thrumming, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked in a very innocent tone of voice.

"Ah, yes…" He looked about into the darkness lit only by the passing stars. "What did you forget?"

"This," she explained as she dropped her sweater. "Computer, privacy lock. Admiral's orders." Then she shoved her husband backwards, sprawling onto the conference table, explaining, "The last time we were crossing off places on your 'places to do it' list, I ended up on the floor of the arboretum. With the bruises to prove it. Your turn," she explained before she did her best to ravish her husband.

"Are you sure that this table can hold the both of us?"

Beverly stopped her explorative kissing descent of her husband's torso. "Just for that remark, it's your ass prints that will be on the star portal too - this time!"

Jean-Luc was not foolish enough to continue this discussion. In fact, over the next hour or so, his only rational thought was to give thanks to whatever god had been kind enough to give him such a passionate wife…

Breathing heavily, a while later, Jean-Luc became aware that his wife intended to make good her threat about ass prints on the window. Fortunately, the curve of the crystal aluminum portal was such, that if he braced himself just right, it was an acceptable position…And the stars were magnificent too...

It was barely 0430 hours when the new captain of the Enterprise decided to start the day in his observation deck by catching up on some reports. Surprised that the door didn't immediately swish open, he was about to enquire of the computer what was going on, when he heard a distinct feminine voice gasping out rather loudly, "Oh! Oh! Jean-Luc!"

Suddenly, in spite of some of the trials of the upcoming day, the new captain of the Enterprise's day was made. He decided that Worf would be glad to know that there was at least one more place to check off of the betting pool list of the admirals' lovemaking locations. For Beverly and Jean-Luc had been rather busy during the past fourteen days, and their activities had been discretely noticed.

Will Riker was not going to disturb the admirals as they went about their business - whatever their pleasurable business was, that is. Besides, he'd had the observation deck as Beverly and Jean-Luc's final trysting place in the betting pool. Shifting his padd, he sent a change of meeting location notice to all of his senior officers; to his ready room. Just in case the honeymooning couple fell asleep afterwards. Though from experience, he knew that there was no place that was truly 'comfortable' in this particular lounge…


	23. THE HAUNTED HONEYMOON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. We'll I've posted all the chapters that I've written. There are one or two left before it is finished. It's hard to say goodbye to this particular A/U.

CHAPTER 23: The Haunted Honeymoon

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Mom, about you and Jean-Luc…"

Beverly stopped checking the drawers for items that might have been missed in the quarters that had been her home for so many years, and looked over at her son. "Yes, Wesley?"

"It's going to be all right, isn't it? I mean, being married to him is what you really want, isn't it?"

She came over and brushed aside a forelock, then kissed his cheek. "Wesley, not to worry. Jean-Luc and I are going to be just like any other married couple."

"Yeah, right. Two happily married admirals."

"Yes, that is what we will be. We'll fight a little, love a lot, and go on with our lives and fulfill our duties. But remember, there will always be room for you in it, Wesley."

"I'm not worried about that, Mom." Actually it was the exact opposite that he feared, especially with his Mom. For she loved to interfere… He sighed. "I just want to be sure that you'll be okay."

"Wesley, when we are all back on Earth together, you will come and visit, won't you?"

"No." On her sudden glare, he grinned, then added, "What do you think?" And for a brief moment, his mother saw the mischief-making young boy that he had first been, when they'd stepped onto the Enterprise's bridge.

"What I think, young man, is that you are going to come to dinner at least twice a month." She straightened out his collar. "More often if possible." She noted his stubborn expression. "And no, I won't make an issue out of this. Not right now." She kissed his cheek. "And that's a thank you for your wedding gift, Wesley. Jean-Luc was most impressed with the Pieter Bruegel engraving." She could see that Wesley was going to correct her words. "Yes, I know that it is a 19th century rendition. But your choice of his works - The Wedding Dance - really pleased him." She kissed him again. "And me. Thank you, Wesley. It was most thoughtful of you. And it will be with us wherever we go."

Wesley reddened, happy that he'd done something right for a change. "Well, once I saw it in this Parisian antique shop, what with the theme of dancing and everything…" He beamed. "I knew that you'd persuade Jean-Luc to dance, sooner or later."

"Data's already given me the recordings of our wedding reception as proof." Beverly sighed, remembering her wedding for a moment. "It was a fine wedding, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Mom. It was…"

The way he spoke, Beverly knew that there were some questions on his mind.

"When I married your Father, it was quite a different wedding. It was smaller. With only a few friends in attendance." She paused for a moment as those memories overwhelmed her. "Walker was there. So was Woody. Jean-Luc was the best man. He barely got your father to the wedding on time. I never did learn all of the details about their bachelor party for Jack. All I know is that Walker and Jean-Luc teased your father about tribbles for the rest of his life. And the next time Jack touched real alcohol was when you were born, Wesley." She softly smiled. "Jean-Luc brought the champagne, but only one bottle. He told Jack that he didn't want his new bridge officer repeating Walker's mistakes. Jack was so proud and happy that day. He had you. Me. A job that he truly loved. And good friends - very good friends. The kind of friends that make life worth living."

She looked at her son, studying him, seeing beyond his genial mask and into his haunted, troubled eyes. "That's what I want for you, Wesley. To have friends you can count on. To one day have a family. And to do what you love with your life." She rested her hand on his forearm before continuing. "When Jack joined the Stargazer, of course I was worried about him. And the dangers of being a senior officer on board a starship. But, he was doing what he had to and wanted to do. And all of my fears couldn't compare with the joy I felt in knowing that Jack was happy. I wouldn't change the man I loved. Anymore than I would want to change you now, Wesley." She hugged her son, offering comfort and understanding. "Whatever you decide to do with you life - it is your happiness that matters. Whether it be as a teacher, a scientist, a trader or as a Starfleet officer. Don't do what you think I want or even what Jean-Luc might like. Figure out what you want, Wesley. I will love you because you are my son and I will be proud of you regardless of what you decide to do."

"You really mean that, don't you, Mom." He moved away from her and poked through a few more side drawers. "Even if I decide to leave the Academy?"

She walked over to him and squeezed him about the waist. "I was proud when you became an acting ensign on board this ship. But I was proud only because of what you'd accomplished. Not the fact that you were wearing an ensign's pip. Do what you need to do, Wesley. I'll always be here for you." Her lips trembled as she tried to give her son some more reassurance. "Well, maybe I wouldn't recommend that you try to convince Klingons to invest in a tribble breeding farm. Your father tried that a long time ago, and it got him into a whole lot of trouble…" She sat down on her sofa, feeling it was time to tell her son a slightly risqué, wild tale about how Jack had met Jean-Luc. He was old enough to hear it, now.

A long time later, Wes' comm badge beeped. Data was reminding Wes that he had to leave soon and take the Picard family back to Earth.

Sighing, Beverly hugged her son for the last time, in private. "Wesley, as a favor to your dear, semi-senile admiral of a mother…," Beverly wheedled.

"Yes, Mom?" He was always suspicious whenever she used that tone of voice on him.

"Don't accidentally kill Robert Picard? Please? Jean-Luc wouldn't like it, though he probably would understand why you did it."

"You've never flown with the man, Mom." Wesley kissed him mother. "I can only promise to try to get him back to France alive." He broadly grinned. "You got a hypospray that I can borrow? I think I can figure out the correct dosage for a trip-long sedative."

She hugged him. Then they walked together to transporter room three.

"Have a good trip back to Earth, Wesley. And try not to get into too much trouble."

"You too, Mom. Have fun on your star cruise with Jean-Luc." Wes sounded like he judged that to be an impossibility.

"I know that you may find this difficult to believe, but, I will, with Jean-Luc. There are sides to his personality that you have never really seen, Wesley. I hope that one day you will get a chance to know the real man."

"I don't think that I can ever consider the Great Captain Picard as the 'jolly' sort of personality, Mom."

"Well, I don't think that even I could go that far in describing him."

She hugged him again before she went over to Marie and family to wish them a safe trip home.

All Robert observed was, "Even your mother worries about your flying, young man!"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

No words were spoken as they walked. Beverly tried to quell the tears that were rising, but that was impossible. Corridor after corridor was lined with officers, crew and civilians, all silently standing at attention, honoring the departure of a former captain and a doctor.

When they reached transporter room five, both of the Picards drew strength from each other as they acknowledged every senior officer standing at attention, too.

What more was there to say? It had all been said or indicated, one way or the other, during the past few days and nights.

Emotions swelled in all throats.

As Jean-Luc looked about at the officers he had once carefully chosen in what seemed like not that long ago, Picard sadly remarked, "Only Lieutenant Yar is missing." He stared over at Worf who had become even more stoic at the mention of Tasha's name. "I suppose losing only one senior officer during seven years of hazardous duty is acceptable. Within permissible standards. But such a loss, it was never acceptable to me. She was too good of an officer - and a friend…"

William Thomas Riker stepped forward.

"Captain. Admirals. Doctor. You will be missed." And to the surprise of some present, Captain Will Riker stepped up to, leaned down, and then lightly kissed the Admiral's wife on the lips, whispering, "Odan left certain instructions for me when you finally came to terms with your feelings for Jean-Luc Picard. He knew."

And then Beverly did something which did not surprise her husband, though others including Deanna were somewhat surprised and amused when she kissed Will back, briefly reviving other kisses from years ago.

"That was for Odan - and for me. You will always have a corner of my heart, Will." Then she kissed him again. With a louder voice she added, "And that is for taking such good care of my husband, for all these years. Somehow you survived it. I know it wasn't easy."

Will grinned, his best, boyish grin. And then he nodded at Admiral Picard. "Know that I do envy you, Sir."

"I can live with that," the other admiral in the room dryly remarked.

Will said nothing more, almost regretting that he had never pursued a relationship with Beverly after Ambassador Odan. Somehow though, instinctively, he'd always recognized that Beverly was in love with someone else. Will's sense of self-preservation as well as his love for his commanding officer, had forestalled him from trespassing. And, part of his heart regretted this decision. He'd always admired Beverly. And William Thomas Riker, the man, would always remember that one night.

The newly-married admirals stopped before every officer. Beverly hugged. Jean-Luc shook hands. They both knew that they'd see their friends again, but it would never be quite like this, ever again.

Finally, Jean-Luc and Beverly walked past their friends and stepped up onto the transporter platform. Will Riker himself, took over the transporter controls.

"Ready, Admirals?"

Jean-Luc Picard glanced at Beverly, then stiffly nodded his assent. Beverly was openly emotional now, not bothering to disguise her tears. Picard was not displaying his feelings at all. He was predictably wearing his emotionless, icy, Starfleet officer's best, most rigid façade. Yet, his hand trembled as he clasped his wife's cold fingers.

Jean-Luc Picard took a deep breath; his eyes steady as he stared for a brief instant at Riker. Then he slightly smiled, as if in acknowledgement of something that he found there, in Captain William Riker's steady gaze. It gave him the strength to firmly state, "Energize."

The hum of transportation was somehow uneventful, ordinary.

"It should have been momentous, trumpets sounding…," was Picard's last thought as he dematerialized with Beverly.

He'd done it. He was actually leaving the Enterprise. She would never more be his command…

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Jean-Luc Picard felt so replete, that it was a major effort to move. "I think that I actually approve of your choice of honeymoon," he casually stated as he removed a tangled strand of molten fire from his face. He stretched down to his toes, and then rolled over slightly. He discovered a purple silk something lodged under his hip. He vaguely remembered removing it with his teeth from his wife's luscious body. He just wasn't sure which part. He dangled it up over his wife's head. "Are you going to reveal to me the names of those who gave you any of these gifts?"

"No, dear. They would be chagrined if they ever knew that you knew."

"Even if I promise to cede to them letters of commendation?"

"You already did that, Jean-Luc. I wrote and you signed. Anyway, they would still be mortified."

"No, mon coeur, 'mortification' is what I felt when I realized that somehow, Lwaxana's gift basket came with us on our honeymoon. And that it was accidentally left off the shipping transporter when our luggage was beamed to our suite. So some, unnamed captain who should know by now that I will never forget or forgive this indignity, had a steward carry that huge basket of unwrapped marital aids throughout this ship until it reached our suite."

"Actually, Jean-Luc, my money is on Woody as being the instigator."

Jean-Luc nodded. "True. Woody's behavior was remarkably restrained during our wedding." He harrumphed. "I'm willing to spread the blame between the two of them."

"At least they didn't have the steward broadcasting our names as he was walking along carrying the basket - I think." She looked at the sideboard where the huge basket along with other baskets of wine, fruit, flowers, chocolate, and wrapped items were on display. She sat up as if to go over and investigate.

Jean-Luc pulled his bride back down onto their massive bed. He picked up the purple silk again. "About this?" She shook her head even as she blushed. His grin was sinful as he observed, "I am please to discover that there are some places where you do ever-so-beautifully blush, Beverly."

She swatted him. "I wasn't sure of the kind of reception I'd receive if I wore it."

He reared his head back in disbelief. "Beverly. I'm a man. Trust me, no man seeing his bride wearing this…," He twirled the silk thingy about his forefinger, "There is only one kind of reception to expect from any red-blooded male."

She grabbed the panty away from him and tossed it over onto an ivory silk upholstered slipper chair.

He was puzzled. "Even after sharing my thoughts on KesPrytt, you still don't know that much about my male psyche?"

Beverly leaned over her husband and lightly kissed him on the lips. "I am curious to see how your male psyche will respond to Data's shower gift."

Jean-Luc gulped. "Data gave you underwear?"

"Yes. He and Will went in on a present together."

He gulped again. "Why don't you show it to me now?"

"You'll see it tonight, my darling. You'll have to recharge your strength before I wear it."

Shuddering, even as he tried to imagine what the twisted mind of Will Riker would devise as a bachelorette party present, Jean-Luc decided to deal with his bride instead.

But she had other things on her mind at the moment. "Jean-Luc, when we were on KesPrytt, you did your best to have nothing but the very most proper thoughts…"

"Whereas yours were decidedly improper…"

She swatted him again. "What did you expect? There I was, alone with you at last, forced to sleep in the cold, expecting you to do the gentlemanly thing and keep me warm within your arms, and what did you do? You tried to think of nothing but proper thoughts."

He put his arms around his naked wife.

"Well, they weren't that proper…" He pressed a chaste kiss against her cheek. "After all, you did wear that most unusual lab coat for me, tonight. You knew…"

"Yes, that was one of your improper thoughts that I did know about." Her smile was tender as she moved about to rest on top of his chest. "Besides, I had to do something about my most improper behavior when we beamed aboard this ship."

"You mean when you carried me over the threshold?"

"No, Jean-Luc." Though she did smile as she remembered the total look of shock on Jean-Luc's face when she'd lifted him into a fireman's carry. "When I promptly fell asleep after I carried you across the threshold."

"You were tired."

"So were you."

"I only pray that Will Riker never finds out that we both spent the first day of our honeymoon… sleeping."

"Well, we did get a fine jump start to our honeymoon on board the Enterprise…"

"Yes, we did, didn't we. Once I was no longer the actual captain…"

"You could act more like Will Riker."

"I suppose you could say that, Beverly. I actually remembered certain incident reports and their locations…"

"And you sought to investigate them."

"Yes. With a most willing partner, Beverly."

She sighed. "We both were acting like randy cadets."

"It is my most fervent hope and desire, mon coueur…"

"What, my darling?"

"That there still will be moments in our future when we both will feel like being randy cadets together."

She sighed, aloud. "When I was a cadet…"

"Yes, mon coeur?"

"I had a most practical nature. I still do."

He raised his eyebrows. Though it was a word that he would apply to her when it concerned her medical abilities, it was not a description he would ascribe to her personality.

She saw his expression. "Yes, practical. We are never going to be alone like this, ever again. We are on our honeymoon, and I intend to spend every moment of it concentrating on you. And I expect you to do the same."

"Yes, mon coeur. Whatever you say. Another wise admiral did inform me that this time would never come again…"

She nestled back into his arms.

He saluted her in a husbandly fashion.

And Beverly was suitably appreciative.

A long time later, he contemplated making a brief audio recording of his wife's gentle snoring, for she had yet to believe him when he informed her that she did this. Deciding that this action might cause more problems than it would resolve, he smoothly slid out of bed, and quietly dressed, not wishing to disturb his still-resting wife.

He donned a grey silk shirt with a matching pair of slacks. As he put on his shoes, he finally bothered to really inspect their suite. Their cabin was certainly luxurious, fitted with every modern tourist amenity placed against a background in harmonious tones of ivory and silver and grey. And there were only a few tastefully flashing lights, here and there. One entire wall in the bedroom was a star portal if one swept aside the dramatic brocade drapery. He guessed that Beverly had picked one of the more expensive suites on the ship.

Fearing that even if he whispered a request for tea and croissants to the replicator, he might awaken his wife, he tapped out a note on a padd, placed it in plain sight on his side of the pillows, and then left the room in search of a café. He'd been assured at the information kiosks that seemed to be by every doorway, that this cruise ship had twenty-six bars, cafes and restaurants. Pausing to study the maps, he chose the café located in the 'Star Bar'. He also made a reservation for later on that day to take his wife out for a romantic dinner and then dancing in the 'Starlight Room' - the cruise ship's most exclusive and unique restaurant - according to the ship's descriptions at any rate.

Seated at the upper level of the café, he looked down over the railing wall onto the various floors below. This café was at the front of the ship, and was several levels tall. And everything, except for the opaque silvered flooring to the various levels, was made of crystal aluminum. Though it would never take the place of Ten-Forward, Jean-Luc did have to admit that he was impressed by the visual impression of floating amongst the stars. Especially with the lowest level which held the formal restaurant and crystal clear dance floor. It was also made of crystal aluminum. Tonight, he would be dancing with his Beverly amongst and on top of, the stars. He decided that it was a lovely illusion.

After he was finished with his nuncheon of a croissant, uttaberries and yoghurt, he sat there, slowly finishing off his teapot of excellent Earl Grey tea. Deciding that Beverly really had chosen well, as cruise ships go, he felt himself relaxing as he simply watched the people go by. It was an unusual feeling for him since he was far more used to being the captain and the center of everyone's attention. He was enjoying his new-found anonymity.

A waiter came by and placed a bottle of a very old bottle of brandy and two snifters on the table.

"I didn't order this," Picard protested.

"But I did, mon petit chou."

Standing, he was about to protest, but then suddenly accepted the fact that there was no point in making a scene. He was the unknown passenger amongst this crew. And if he provoked his nemesis, he was sure that whatever Q would do, would probably result with placing him in the most embarrassing situation possible. So he sat back down, and merely glared at the member of the Continuum that had dared to invade his privacy.

Q poured out a rather large serving of brandy into each snifter. "Pick it up, Jean-Luc. It's real Napoleon." Q swirled the liquor about, holding the snifter between his hands.

Nodding, Jean-Luc complied, sniffing as his own hands warmed his snifter. Surprised by the rich aromatic scents of apples with hints of other flavors, Picard slowly began to anticipate what this brandy would taste like.

"Napoleon?"

"I got it from the General myself."

Picard didn't doubt him. "The aroma tells me that it has some age."

"Well, I stored what the man gave me for a few centuries. Even I know better than to drink brandy like this when it is nouveau."

Jean-Luc took a sip. His eyes widened in surprise as he began to really appreciate what he was tasting. "You were misinformed. This is not Napoleon. It's calvados. Hors d'age. It's aged a very long time." He took another sip. "And it is an excellent calvados. In fact, it may be the finest that I've ever tasted."

Q took a sip from his snifter. "You're right, Jean-Luc. I must have grabbed the wrong bottle from my cellar."

For a while, both the admiral and the Q simply sat there, savoring their drinks.

"Pity I can't smoke. You let me smoke," Q grumbled. He glanced about. "Mundanes. That is something I've never accused you of being before, Jean-Luc."

"Sometimes, the mundane is to be welcomed, Q." Picard glanced about as well. "If only for a little while."

Q chuckled. "So, where shall I send you, mon renard gris? The moons of Antauri? The Singing Caves of the Bellinni? I can give you and Beverly a honeymoon that you will never forget!"

"Q, I already am on a honeymoon that I will never forget."

"I suspected as much." He nodded. "She does have red hair, after all."

Jean-Luc smiled at this conceit.

There was silence between them again, for a while.

"I was surprised that you were not at the wedding," Picard quietly observed.

"Happy honeymoon!"

Picard froze for a moment.

"My not being there - that was my wedding present to you and Beverly."

Jean-Luc Picard paused, took another sip of his brandy, and then began to chuckle.

"Q…" He really didn't know what to say. "Thank you…"

Q chuckled too. "Besides, Guinan was there. The lady and I don't mix too well, socially. She keeps trying to… oh, well, never mind." He stood. "You may keep the bottle, Jean-Luc." Then he pulled something out of a pocket from the rather conservative (for Q) brown suit that he was wearing. And he handed Jean-Luc a royal blue velvet covered antique jeweler's box. "For Beverly." And with that Q simply disappeared.

Deciding that it was in his wife's best interests that he see what the gift was, Jean-Luc warily opened it up. Inside was an antique 19th century gold, champlevé1 and plique á jour2 enameled free-form stylized rectangular locket. Both the front and back to the locket were exquisitely detailed with flowers, dogs and peacocks, highlighted by diamonds and gemstones. It was decidedly Art Nouveau in style. He carefully opened up the locket. One panel bore a finely rendered enamelled portrait of Wesley. The other side had a portrait of him. The long gold double set chains to the locket, had connecting links inset with cabochon gemstones matching the colors to the locket. Clearly, it was a set. With trembling hands he checked the hallmarks on the clasp. They were Russian. And unfamiliar to him. But he did not doubt that they were the marks of Peter Carl Fabergé.

Jean-Luc idly wondered if Q had gone back in time…

A disembodied voice answered that question…. "I knew you couldn't resist peaking, mon ami. I had to pretend to enjoy the Czarist court for six weeks in 1885, waiting for Karl Gustavovich to make this object de fantaisie. The things I do to please you…"

Picard truly was stunned.

"Tata!"

Jean-Luc placed the locket back in its case, and decided that it wouldn't hurt to have another small brandy before he returned to his wife.

When he returned to their suite, Beverly pretended to be upset that her husband had left her side, though she was appreciative that he had let her sleep. For she needed her sleep. Otherwise the man would exhaust her.

Her reaction to the locket was not what Jean-Luc expected. For she started to laugh and laugh when she saw it. The verso side to the locket didn't just have a peacock on it. There was also a reclining red Irish setter as part of the fantastical scene. When she got around to finally opening up the locket, tears trickled down her cheeks as she beheld the portraits.

"Just when you thought it was safe to hate Q, he goes and does something so very nice…," Beverly sniffled.

Jean-Luc just held her in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: 1. Champleve: Opaque enamelwork. When combined with a foil ground and multiple layerings of enamel, it is also referred to as cloisonné.
> 
> 2\. Plique á jour: enamelling with glass that results in semi-translucent enamel work.
> 
> Both techniques are extremely difficult to do, and some of the Russian jewelers of the late 19th century were masters at this craft. Especially Peter Carl Fabergé. (See his "Easter Eggs".)


	24. BEGINNINGS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.n. This is the penultimate chapter. Only one more to go.

CHAPTER 24 BEGINNINGS

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

 

Her low heels clacked against the gleaming ancient oak flooring. The echoes of her steps filled the large room. She looked about the empty salon. Soon a few pieces of furniture would be brought up from storage. Mildred had only picked out the basics that would be needed for she knew better than to take away all of a bride's first choices from her. If the bride didn't feel like fussing, only then would Mildred efficiently take over.

Her co-conspirator, Marie, walked into the brightly lit room and waited until her eyes adjusted to the light, for an entire wall was nothing but French doors and fenestrated windows inset with stained glass panels in a floral and diamond motif. She went over to the lady inspecting the damask gold hued drapery, and briefly hugged her. "The partner's desk is finally in the library. It's as large as a mattress, and it was just about as difficult to properly position. That room has some peculiar angles."

"All of it was hand made in an era when people had lots of stuff and paperwork and thought that their surroundings should be - interesting."

Marie raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And my brother-in-law doesn't have a lot of stuff, now?"

Mildred raised an eyebrow back at her. "You're the one who noticed that it was as large as a mattress."

"So Beverly and Jean-Luc will either have a lot of work space for their padds…"

"Or they'll have a lot of work space to play."

"It takes a certain type of woman to share a workspace with Jean-Luc. Robert is a grumpy bear whenever I intrude into his office."

Mildred only chuckled. "Did the kids find the big rug mentioned in the estate inventory?"

"Yes. The Sarouk is in excellent condition. If I am any judge of Jean-Luc's tastes, he loved that wine colored rug when he was a boy. And now, he'll have it again in his library."

Both ladies conspiratorially grinned. They were preparing their final bridal present for Jean-Luc and Beverly which was to bring the newlywed's house into an livable condition.

"All the leather bound books are in the library," an enthusiastic voice boomed from the doorway. "We'll wait about shelving the rest of the books until Mom gets here." Wesley Crusher came over to his new aunt, and their new friend. "Brawny is still wrestling with trying to get all the electronic stuff hooked up properly. We don't want to damage the desk. Or the wood paneling."

Mildred grinned as she contemplated the antique golden oak partner (or two-person) desk that she'd discovered in the Picard family storage. She knew immediately that it would be perfect for the newly married couple. If, however, the couple discovered that there was such a thing as too much togetherness, then she'd arrange for each to have their own individual offices established elsewhere in the house.

"It seems that you do have some friends here at the Academy, after all," Marie casually observed, as she inspected her slightly dusty and sweaty newly-acquired nephew.

Wesley grinned. "Brawny, maybe. The others - well, ever since Admiral Wiley sent the invitation to his poker game next week on an unsecured comm line, everyone in the dorm has been treating me a little differently."

"You're going to the 'admirals' only' poker game?" Mildred Krebs innocently inquired. She was actually impressed that Wesley had been invited.

Wesley's grin grew larger. "Yes. Admiral Wiley said that he wanted to see the expressions on the other admiral's faces when a mere cadet beats them at poker."

"You're too full of yourself," Mildred tartly observed.

"You want me to tell my Mom that you were also once Jean-Luc's P.A. before you became her personal assistant at Starfleet Medical for a year?"

"Oh, you…" She pretended to swat his fanny. She'd only known Wesley Crusher for two days, but he was becoming a very dear boy to her. Of course, what she knew about the cadet, was extensive. When she'd worked for his mother, a very lonely Beverly would often discuss her son and the trials of trying to raise a teenager by long distance.

"I'm afraid that I have to get back to LaBarre," Marie observed. "Robert has probably decided that I've gone over to the technological dark side since I've been gone so long. Anyway, I think that we've done enough for now. Their bed is made up. There's food in the kitchen. And the wine cellar is full." She shrugged. "The rest? Well, Beverly will want some of the fun of setting up house for herself." With that, she kissed Wesley's cheek, smiled at Mildred, and then walked down the main staircase to a lower level where the individual transporter pad was located.

Marie marveled at the ancient house. Though it wasn't as old as the Picard ancestral home, it still was a grand house. The original portion had been built about 1900 in the Arts and Crafts style. The main staircase went up three floors and still had its original stained glass window that was also as high as the staircase. Over the years, and especially when Aunt Adele had lived here, a great deal of restoration, expansion and refinement had taken place. From the outside, the house looked like a simple house. But once you realized that it was built into a cliff side, you also noticed that it was a total of five stories, that then opened up into a fantastical garden. This garden and greenhouse complex had been Boothby's pride and joy for many decades. Beyond all that was a mews and then access to the beach for the house also overlooked the Bay.

On a sober note, Wesley told Mildred, "All the security systems are up and functioning. Boothby's agreed to let security use his gatehouse as well as the station here in the house. There will be at least two stationed guards at all time - located at opposite ends of the property."

Mildred nodded. "Good. Oh, you should see the horses that the Valtese sent Jean-Luc and Beverly as a wedding present. Good thing the stables have been kept up."

"There's still a lot of stuff stored in the empty stalls." Wesley wandered over to the wall of French doors that opened out onto a balcony. "Jean-Luc really didn't know that his inheritance had been turned into an Embassy when he rented it out?" He glanced down at the open patio areas that could be turned into a space suitable for a diplomatic function with one tap of a comm badge.

"From what I gather, he was a mere cadet at the time. He had other things on his mind other than empty old houses." Mildred grinned. "He didn't realize that he'd inherited two houses. This one, and then one near the Academy that really is the duplex he'd mentioned to your mother." Mildred came over to Wesley to admire the view. "That's where Worf and his family are going to stay when they visit."

"I can hardly wait until Mom and Jean-Luc see this place. They are not going to believe it…" Wesley shook his head. "He forgot a house?"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

There were a few occasions when Jean-Luc and Beverly did surface from their honeymoon suite. They did wander about the cruise ship though they really didn't notice the hubbub. Beverly did go shopping for the ship had a fabulous zocalo. Jean-Luc danced several nights away with Beverly in his arms for the lady had been amused by the idea of dancing on top of the stars.

Jean-Luc did note that no one seemed to know that they were admirals. He discovered that they were officially registered as a 'Dr. and Professor Galen'. Later on, he would learn that Guinan was the one who had done all of the thoughtful arranging for their anonymity.

At one point, Jean-Luc remarked, "You know, Beverly, this suite has no greater amenities than what the galaxy class ships offer. We could have traveled to Earth for no charge instead of paying an exorbitant amount of credits for similar transportation."

Beverly stirred, moving against him. She adored the feeling of her flesh pressed against the strength of his. She celebrated in it. But then there was also the matter of a husband who opened his mouth now and then.

"The ever-practical Jean-Luc. Bor-ing. You forgot about the five planets. We might actually consider sightseeing."

"Beverly, you think that I'm boring?" He pulled her closer. "And Mrs. Picard, this admiral does not go sightseeing. When I step foot on a planet, I am exploring."

Beverly glanced about their luxurious quarters. She silently agreed that they were not equal to what the Enterprise could provide. "So, what are we going to do during our remaining couple of weeks of leave?"

Jean-Luc could not control his grin as he embraced his Beverly. "Precisely what you had planned, Dr. Picard." He proceeded to demonstrate.

Between gasps, she asked, "What makes you think that I really intended for us to do this? Perhaps, I just really was interested in sightseeing?"

"On several of the tackiest planetary tourist ports-o-call in the Federation? Beverly, you don't fool me for a minute. You are going to get precisely the kind of honeymoon that you want - and so conveniently arranged."

"Thank goodness you're such a clever man and figured it out." She then decided to nibble on his neck to distract him. It worked.

A long time later he got around to asking, as he sat up against their pillows. "Why did you?"

She joined him, leaning against the sateen bolsters. She ached, but it was a righteous sort of ache. She'd earned it. She'd worked rather hard for it too. "Why did I what?"

"Plan a honeymoon that you must have known I could potentially loathe?"

"Jean-Luc." She sighed with exasperation. "If we'd been on board any kind of Starfleet vessel, you and I would both have been at the beck and call of the Admiralty every minute of every duty shift." She slid off of the platform bed, cloaked herself in an embroidered turquoise robe, and then gestured about their rooms. "Here, we're not known. We're on our honeymoon. We're not going to be disturbed unless we wish to be." She walked over to the star portal. "We're proceeding at a nice, unhurried pace. Only the porter knows or cares about what we are doing." She sent him a speculative glance. "And there isn't a Starfleet problem in sight, that needs resolving."

"Which is why I truly do approve of your choice of honeymoons, mon coeur." He rose from the bed and pulled her back into his arms, crushing her against his naked chest. "Shall I?"

"Please do."

As a few planets passed by, the lovers never got around to sightseeing. Though Jean-Luc did promise Beverly a massage and several courses in Jamaharon when they reached Risa. Picard was bound and determined to finally find out what Jamaharon was with his bride. And he did want to add to his Horga'hn collection.

One night, Jean-Luc put aside his mystery novel, and idly asked, "Why don't you want to go sightseeing, Beverly?"

Beverly looked up from the medical journal that she was reviewing. "Tired of my company, already?"

"That is not what I meant."

"Jean-Luc, all of the sights that I want to see are here in this suite."

"We may be missing some interesting sites."

She started rummaging through a suitcase. "I'll show you an interesting sight," she mumbled under her breath. "Jean-Luc…" A sudden thought dawned. "By chance, are any of these interesting sights, archaeological sites?"

"Well…" Jean-Luc hemmed.

"Ogus II. Of course." She remembered a planet name from the optional tours listing.

"Beverly…"

"Jean-Luc, if you want to go crawling about caverns, I have no objections - as long as we only take one sleeping bag. Understood?" Her smile was too-knowing as she added, "A stimulated mind is a sexy mind. And if it takes dragging you about caverns in order to stimulate yours, so be it." She laughed. "Of course, you will have to reciprocate. I've heard about certain stores on Risa that carry some of the most unusual items…"

"Surely, Lwaxana has given us every unusual item in the known universe?" He gestured to the still untouched large basket of marital aids.

That was when Beverly decided to wear Will and Data's gift.

Later on that night, after Jean-Luc had finally stopped laughing and swearing to get even with his former Number One - if only because he had led Data astray - Jean-Luc then asked the all important question, "Beverly, where's the key?"

After she tormented him for a little while, Beverly displayed a rarely used talent - she knew how to pick locks.

Hours later, Jean-Luc rolled over on to his side, automatically reaching for his bride. She wasn't there. Turning his head, he peered through the darkness until he located his wife, sitting by a star portal. She was resting her forehead against the clear aluminum. For a while, he just simply watched her. He still marveled at her presence in his life, even as he was somewhat wondering what she was thinking. And then, as if they were still tethered psychically to each other, he knew her thoughts.

With a panther's grace, he moved out of the bed, to join her by the window. Only then did she acknowledge him by reaching behind herself and touching his hand, finding comfort from this simple physical contact.

"Jack wanted your happiness, Beverly." His voice still had traces of his longstanding regret and guilt over Jack's death.

"I know, Jean-Luc. But sometimes, I still can't help but regret all of the things that should have been, had he lived."

"I would have gladly died for him."

"Jack wouldn't have wanted that. And I'm glad that you didn't." She looked up over her shoulder, straight into his darkened gaze. "I learned how to live without Jack. But, I do not ever want to learn how to live without you, Jean-Luc Picard. I don't think that I'd survive."

"I will do my best, mon coeur, to see that you don't have to do so…"

"Don't promise, Jean-Luc. Jack did. And it was the one promise that he could never keep."

"Well, there is one promise that I can truly make - I will always love you. My love for you is eternal."

"Now that is a promise with which I can live." She pulled him down onto the ledge next to her. Her arms went about his neck. "I love you, Jean-Luc. Forever."

A long time later, as Beverly slept, he went back to the star portal. Guinan had somehow managed to procure for them an outside cabin. He had quickly learned, among the hierarchy of the ship's passengers, that passengers with star portals were considered to be amongst the elite. What Jean-Luc didn't realize was that when Guinan had privately made the arrangements, the mere mention of his name had been sufficient to guarantee the honeymooners the most elite and discreet of suites and service.

Jean-Luc looked out the portal, which was in no way equal in size to what he'd become used to in his former captain's quarters. He had taken for granted having star portals on board the Enterprise. Now, he was silently amused by his conceit. His brother was right. He had become far too used to the privileges of rank and command. Jean-Luc felt that his ego did need a little humbling now and then, with an added dash of humility. He glanced in the direction of his loving wife. Beverly would see to it when he needed it.

His blood stirred at the thought of his wife. Beverly did so many things with a passion that he was looking forward to their life together. Just the reality of being able to share a life with her, he considered to be a privilege. He prayed that he would be humble enough - human enough - to never forget that he was nothing but just a mere mortal. That he was only a man. And a man who was in love with this woman. The only other times in his life that he'd felt like this - this sense of a mixture of elation, joy and gratitude - was when he had first loved Eline, first sat in a captain's chair, and the first time he beheld the Enterprise at Utopia Planetia.

Jean-Luc remembered the possible future that Q had once deigned to reveal. And even though he had warned Beverly about this possible future, with its looming divorce, neither one of them had really taken it to heart.

Jean-Luc recalled reading somewhere about the future being writ on a grain of sand. Both of them had chosen to shuffle their grains together. Not that they weren't heeding the warning that Q's future had shown them. But, he resolved not to repeat the same mistakes he had made the first time he had lived this life. This time, he vowed to keep Beverly by his side, forever. Even if it did mean one day becoming a civilian archaeologist on board a Starfleet hospital starship.

Beverly silently studied her husband. She knew he was over-thinking everything. That was his nature. She softly murmured his name.

"Jean-Luc?" She patted the space beside her.

"Coming, Beverly." Jean-Luc suddenly looked down at the grey robe he was wearing. "I'm cold."

She raised up her arms. "Come to bed. I'll keep you warm."

He whispered under his breath, as he accepted her invitation, "Perhaps those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard in my life, Beverly Howard Crusher Picard."

Her smile was dreamy in response.

As he joined her, she sighed, "Guinan predicted that I'd love you a long time."

"I hope that Guinan is correct, Beverly. She usually is." And then he was lost in her kiss.

"Guinan?"

He should have been paying more attention to her mood. He might have noticed the way that she'd said Guinan's name. "Yes, mon coeur?"

"When were you going to confess?"

"What?"

Now, he was wary.

"About Guinan."

He raised his head up, hurriedly looked about, and tried to rapidly focus his thoughts that had been temporarily befuddled by passion's wine. "Guinan?" he repeated, with just the right touch of innocence.

"Yes. You know - your former barkeep."

His head cleared. "She wants to be our nanny." He felt Beverly stiffen in his arms.

"Nanny?" the lady choked.

"Why not?" Jean-Luc recognized a good offense when he stumbled upon it. "You're young enough. And I most certainly am old enough."

"For what?" Now, Beverly was the one who was wary.

"For children." He tried to sound like the most understanding husband in the universe. "That is, if you want another child."

"And you want Guinan to be our…" She stopped talking. Collected her wits. And argued, "You talked to Guinan about us?"

"Actually, Guinan discussed you with me."

Beverly looked at her husband. Even in the subdued lighting of their suite, she could tell that he was already mentally congratulating himself on a successful diversionary tactic.

She knew a few tricks of her own. And did them. "We will discuss Guinan later, Jean-Luc."

"You have no further questions?"

"Jean-Luc, I'm about to kiss you senseless. When the time is right to discuss Guinan, I'll let you know."

She moved over him. And Beverly thoroughly enjoyed herself as she proceeded to make love to her husband with an enthusiasm that surprised even herself.

Later on, as Jean-Luc rested on his side, counting all of his lucky stars, Beverly carefully and casually proclaimed, "I know."

This pronouncement disturbed his ruminations. "Know what?"

"I could always tell."

She had to give him credit as she watched him as if he were a specimen displayed for her microscope. Not for a nano-second did he squirm.

Jean-Luc sat up and tried to look nonchalant, as he casually searched for a long-discarded robe. "And what could you tell, mon coeur?"

Beverly was quickly coming to recognize that Jean-Luc called her 'mon coeur', for two reasons. The first was when he was declaring his love. The second was when he was trying to distract her - usually from discovering something or some memory or feeling that he did not want her to know about. It hadn't worked when he first began to use it on her. And he would not succeed now - not that she'd let him know this. She already knew that when it came to the marital battleground, she would need every advantage she could get over her husband.

"Jean-Luc, thanks to our sojourn on KesPrytt, I knew. Afterwards, I could even tell when."

He gulped. He had no defense against KesPrytt and the knowledge that she might have gleaned there.

"You never once made reference to the matter."

"Jean-Luc, it was between you and Guinan. Besides, later on, Guinan and I discussed it."

He gulped again. And then thought of something. "Is that why you declined my offer?"

She knew that he was referring to their dinner after the KesPrytt incident. "No, I knew you well enough, even then, to know that whatever your association was with Guinan, it had nothing to do with our relationship." Her eyes glinted. "Besides, I didn't exactly decline your offer now, did I? It just took me a while to change my mind."

"I see."

For a few moments, Beverly did nothing. Then she ordered the lights to brighten by forty percent. After this, she donned her robe, and then tossed Jean-Luc his somewhat tattered grey robe. She knew better than to ask him why he wasn't wearing one of the new ones he'd received as a gift. Even a former Starfleet captain needed his blankie now and then…

After she'd got a light repast for them from the replicator, for at the moment she hadn't a clue as to whether it should be breakfast, lunch or dinner - and she didn't care; she sat down on a comfortable armchair and gazed at her husband with a brazen eye. Their snack was on a low table.

"About our having children…"

She'd succeeded in distracting him from his considerations about the topics of conversation that Guinan might have discussed with his bride.

"Yes, Beverly?"

"Yes."

It took him a moment to comprehend what she'd just said. But then, something in her expression told him that she wasn't finished.

"When?"

For a second she was tempted to postpone the rest of their conversation with a passionate now. But then, she mentally girded herself, determined to actually finish this conversation. Certain things had to be established between them, if their marriage was going to progress.

"At a future time, Jean-Luc. But, soon. I'm not getting any younger either. And I'd prefer to become a mother again before Wesley makes me a grandmother." She motioned for him to be seated in the chair that was the mate to hers. "We're going to have to set up our routines on Earth, and then figure out how we're going to handle having a baby." She sighed. "Thank heavens for Krebbie."

Both of his eyebrows rose in alarm at the mention of this name.

"I've been in touch with her. If anyone can figure out how to do it, it will be her."

He refrained from making the obvious joke. Beverly appreciated this. Beverly liked Jean-Luc at his best -especially when he was not being obvious.

"Mon coeur…" He was pleased that a slight smile graced her lips with his use of the endearment. "About Guinan…"

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"Is my relationship with the lady a difficulty between us?"

"No. Guinan is my friend, too," she commented, rather entertained by his purely masculine reaction and the way he didn't disguise his sigh of relief at her words.

A worrisome thought crossed his mind. "Meaning?"

She smiled sweetly at her beloved. "Neither one of us in the type to share you - with others."

He studied his wife, trying to determine her intent, as he mentally cursed his own foolishness in ever trying to understand women - and especially this particular woman.

"I am, by my own nature, not inclined to share, either. I married you, Beverly." He believed his statement covered the subject.

"I never thought otherwise, Jean-Luc." And then she smiled; that curious, brilliant smile that always confused Jean-Luc. "But you do owe me an explanation."

"About?"

She could see that he was still gulping; not that he would ever indicate his restive feelings to her.

"Guinan promised me that you would one day tell me how the two of you met. She said that I should ask you some time during our honeymoon. So, now I am asking."

He knew that he was honor bound to tell Beverly. The sly look in her eyes made him more nervous though, as he began, "I met Guinan in a bordello on Tellun II, not that I was a client, or she, an employee…"


	25. KNOW WHEN TO HOLD'EM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Okay. I realized I had one extra chapter in me. So this one really is the penultimate chapter.

CHAPTER 25: KNOW WHEN TO HOLD'EM

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley was enjoying himself. Not that he was winning at poker this night. He'd only won two hands, and both of them had been minor pots. No, his enjoyment came from watching that idiot of a cadet, Wesley Eugene Crusher, win. And win again. And again. Against four of his fleet's finest admirals who also had very elephantine memories. He then decided that he wasn't just enjoying himself. He was really enjoying himself as he watched Wesley rake in another tall pile of credits. The expressions on the faces of one man, one Bolian and two women were a treasure to behold.

He enjoyed listening to the Bolian, a rear admiral named Adrok lisp, "Mr. Crusher, by chance have you considered where you're going to be posted after you graduate?"

"I've been told that I'm going to the Enterprise," Wesley nicely answered, as he peeked at the two cards he'd just been dealt for a hand of Ferengi Hold'em. He was looking at two aces. And inwardly groaned as he observed the first communal card that was turned over on the blue felt. It was another ace. His luck was good tonight. In fact, statistically, it was too good. His mathematical id was getting nervous - very nervous. He glanced at the dealer, an Admiral Margarita Hildago-T'Veck. While it was possible that she might be in cahoots with Winston Holt Wiley, he did somewhat doubt it. For Admiral Picard had mentioned the lady over the years, and he got the impression that this admiral was a person that Jean-Luc Picard had admired and respected for a very long time. In short, she wasn't the type of lady to deliberately cheat at cards, even if it was in his favor. Even after two near-beers, Wesley was still rather alert with his mind calculating into overdrive.

As he won this hand too, Wesley began to consider all the possibilities of Winston Holt Wiley's machinations. This next hand, Admiral Wiley dealt. It was Jacks or Better. Wes threw his cards away in spite of the fact that he'd just been dealt a pair of queens. He then deliberately lost the next hand. And the next. And then it was his turn to deal. He went with Jacks or Better. And found himself holding a pair of aces, again.

Admiral Nakamura threw in the first bet. Though no one had said it aloud, this was probably going to be the last hand of the night.

It was an unwritten rule at Starfleet Academy Headquarters, especially in the so called admiralty 'god' suites, at the tallest tower of the building, that all admirals were to be gone by 0200 hours unless there was a crisis. And since Admiral Winston Holt Wiley's suite was the entire top three floors of the building, and even though his poker room was an interior room, it was considered to be a good day when his lights went off on time. For if his lights were seen to be on all night, then that meant that there was a problem somewhere…

So a dark tower indicated that all was well.

Even Wiley didn't usually break this unwritten rule.

It was now 0130 hours, Standard Federation Time. And Wesley Crusher had a decision to make. He matched Woody's bet, but didn't raise it. It was Alynna Nechayev who raised the bet, and then some. Again, Wesley matched it. And then Wesley tried to figure out why Admiral Winston Holt Wiley had even invited him to this game. For Jean-Luc Picard had warned him about the kind of deeply played machinations for which Holt was famous. Even Krebbie had passed on a word of warning or two as well. Wesley had figured that after dealing with the Q, Admiral Wiley would be a piece of cake. Now he was not so sure.

Wesley was dealt a third card. It was an ace. By this time both Woody and Rita had dropped out, leaving just Winston, Alynna, Admiral Adrok and himself.

Admiral Adrok spoke, even as he raised the bet by another hundred credits. "I've heard of you, Cadet Crusher. You were part of the Nova Squadron Scandal."

Wesley stifled his ironic laugh. He found it hard to believe that there wasn't an admiral out there that hadn't known of the Nova Squadron Scandal. "Something which I will regret for the rest of my life, Sir."

Adrok waited until after Holt dealt the fourth round of cards. "You know, you could be posted somewhere else besides the Enterprise… I could arrange it."

Wesley wasn't sure if he was being offered a warning or a bribe, but at this moment, he didn't care. For now, he was holding four aces. He matched everyone's bets, but didn't raise.

Suddenly Adrok shoved all his credits into the middle of the elegant 19th century burled walnut poker table with its Federation Blue felt top. "I'm all in," he announced as he shoved his credits into the middle of the United Federation of Planets logo on the center of the table.

"So am I," Alynna replied, pushing in her stack too.

Dreading what was coming, Wesley watched as Winston Holt Wiley moved in his chips.

So Wesley matched them, sighing as he did so.

Adrok laid down a full house - aces and eights.

Alynna gloated as she placed down her hand - a straight hearts flush.

Winston only cursed as he threw his hand face down onto the felt.

"Well, Cadet Crusher?" Alynna gleefully asked.

Wesley cautiously hesitated.

"Well?" Winston Holt Wiley drawled, intently staring at the young cadet.

Wesley continued to think. And then he threw his cards face down onto the table. "You win, Admiral Nechayev." For he'd heard a lot about this admiral over the years, and he knew it was not wise to make an enemy of her, if he wished to have a successful Starfleet career.

Wesley froze. For he was thinking about his future Starfleet career. And it seemed important, now. When had that happened? There was a disturbing twinkle in Wiley's eyes which seemed to confirm...something…

Almost blindly he picked up the glass that Wiley had placed in front of him as a farewell libation. He choked as he took a sip. It was real whiskey, instead of the non-alcoholic beer that Winston had served him earlier.

All Winston said was, "Don't you have classes in the morning, cadet?"

"No, Sir. I've got propulsion labs at the UP at 1200." Wesley put down his drink, and just looked at the old man. He was smiling now, as if he was very pleased about something. And then Wesley glanced over at the other admirals. All of them seemed pleased about something too. Slowly, Wesley picked up his glass, his mind racing even as he considered all of the impossibilities. He understood. Now... Wesley then raised his glass as if for a toast. "I know that this may be presumptuous of me, Sirs, Ma'ams; but I would just like to say one thing. Thank you."

Alynna Nechayev icily asked, "For what?" She sounded annoyed.

"Why, for the games we played." Wesley stared directly at the head of Starfleet as he said these words. He chuckled as he added, "It was quite an educational experience."

Wiley chuckled too. "You'll do, Cadet. You'll do." Wiley poured himself a final shot for the road. "Still going back to the Enterprise when you graduate, Cadet Crusher?"

"I'm not sure, Sir. Dr. Brahms has asked me to join her at the UP. She wants me to work with her in theoretical propulsions. I am considering it for more than one reason." When Winston raised his eyebrow, Wesley added, "I just thought that it would be nice to be around my Mom at least for a little while."

"And the Enterprise will always be there," Margarita Hidalgo-T'Vek warmly added.

The next morning, Wesley was still wondering if what happened at the poker game was what had really happened or if he was imagining things. He found himself sitting in the sequestered Adele Rose Garden near his dormitory. He wasn't that surprised when Boothby sat down next to him.

"Heard you lost last night."

"I was winning most of the night - until the last couple of hands, Mr. Boothby." Wesley glanced about the small, walled garden full of blossoming floribunda and long stemmed roses. "Does Jean-Luc know that you named this garden after his great-aunt?"

"No. But I had to name it after her. I promised the lady her prize roses would continue."

Wesley nodded. "Am I imagining things? Did the head of Starfleet really do what I think he did?"

"You mean, test your mettle in matters other than mathematics and games of chance?"

"Yes. He wanted me to lose. Even though I had the winning hands. Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Wesley grunted, then grumbled, "You remind me of Counselor Troi."

"Not a bad lady to be compared to, young man. Besides, in some ways, we both do the same thing - I like to listen too."

"And save lives?"

"Cadet, I wouldn't go that far. Let's just say that sometimes lives need to be guided."

Wesley didn't say anything for a while. Then he nodded. "Admiral Wiley wanted me to choose. Win the pots and have five powerful admirals pissed off at me for a long time to come thereby damning my Starfleet career before I even become an ensign - that is if I decide to become an ensign; or deliberately lose and appease their egos. And maybe one day actually have a command Starfleet career in spite of all the mistakes I've made." He glanced over at Boothby, still puzzled. "Why would the Fleet Admiral do that? What makes me so special?"

"Because Wesley Crusher, you already have the soul - and the heart - of a Starfleet officer. Then you came to the Academy as a cadet. Now, your mind just needs to catch up with where you were." Boothby patted Wesley's arm. "In spite of everything, you're going to be a good man, Wesley Crusher. Whether it be as a Starfleet officer or as something else. You choose. Winnie is just hoping that you choose to remain as a Starfleet officer. He wants you. And he knows that Starfleet needs an officer like you."

"I'm not an officer, Mr. Boothby."

"Trust me, kiddo, you already are. And you have been for a while now. You just don't realize it yet."

Wesley considered Boothby's words. "You can get away with calling him 'Winnie?'"

Boothby laughed. "I can recall when Winnie was a cadet. And I still can remember where all of his bodies are buried."

"Like you know where all of Admiral Picard's bodies are buried too. You, and Krebbie."

"Jean-Luc has called us both, forces for good, cadet."

"But does he really know all that you've done?"

"Let's just say, Mr. Crusher, that when Jean-Luc asked me to manage his properties when he inherited them from his Aunt Adele, which I was happy to do if only because of the greenhouses and gardens, he didn't really grasp all of the details involved."

Wesley laughed. "I definitely have to be there when Jean-Luc finds out about the extent of all of this."

"I believe that Krebbie is planning a welcome home party. Whether Jean-Luc wants it or not. Your Mother, on the other hand, will always enjoy intimate parties with close friends and new family." Boothby didn't have a watch to look at, but somehow he knew that it was approaching the time for Wesley to leave for UP. "You'd better get going, Cadet."

Wesley nodded, then looked about the garden again, before he stood up from the stone bench with the silly wyverns carved on the side.

"Cadet…" Boothby handed the young man some small shears that he removed from his apron pocket. "Leah Brahms loves roses. Cut half a dozen to take to her. It's the sort of sucking-up of which she does approve."

"I don't need to toady to Dr. Brahms."

"I know, Wesley, I know. Which is why she'll even be more appreciative of the gesture. She's one lady you don't ever want to get on her bad side. She doesn't act like it, but she's very diabolical, that one. When you mess with her engines - you'd better be in the right. Or else you'll think that Jean-Luc Picard is a pussycat in comparison to her."

Wesley only chuckled as he snipped six perfect apricot colored rose buds, then handed Boothby back his shears. The man took the roses from Wesley, and quickly removed all the thorns then handed the roses back to the cadet.

"Thanks. For everything, Mr. Boothby."

The ageless gardener watched as the cadet took the roses and started to walk away.

"Wesley…"

Wesley turned around.

"You've made the right decision - for now."

"How do you know what I've decided?"

"You're going to make a fine officer, young Mr. Crusher. You'll honor your father's name."

Wesley nodded accepting Boothby as a force of nature in his life. "I hope so." Like Guinan, it was better to give in when they confronted you with something. There really was no point in fighting the inevitable. He tapped his comm badge.

"I know so…" Boothby quietly added as he watched the cadet beam away.

Winston Holt Wiley slowly walked into the garden. Old war wounds were bothering him this morning. He sat next to Boothby.

"The lad's a brilliant tactician," he idly commented to his old friend.

"Yes, he is, Winnie. He figured out what you'd done."

"I'd have been disappointed in my own judgment if he hadn't. You can't be much of a gamesman if you don't even recognize the game you're playing."

"Looking for a new playmate, Winnie?"

"All of my other friends are getting too old. They need to be shaken up now and then. And I think that Wesley Crusher is the youth to do it."

"Give him about ten years of seasoning before you make him an admiral, Winnie. Let him live a little before you thrust the weight of the universe on his shoulders."

Winston Holt Wiley offered his friend a cigar. Boothby took it, then pocketed the devil's stick even as Wiley lit his own.

"He'll do?" Boothby asked.

"He'll do," the head of Starfleet replied, beginning to think for the first time, that he'd found the right person to become his eventual successor.

Boothby idly commented, "I heard that Ambassador Troi has been looking for you…"

Winnie groaned. "That woman is insatiable."

"So true," Boothby muttered under his breath.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

On the other side of the galaxy, Guinan sat on her bright pink upholstered davino, kicked off her shoes, poured out three drinks of a chartreuse colored liquid into orange colored glasses that were resting on a low, turquoise painted table, and then yelled at the computer, "Let them in."

She leaned back against her purple pillows with the large mir-i-bota patterns in tones of vibrant red and apple green. These pillows clashed royally with her canary yellow hostess gown. She didn't care. She liked her color choices to scream back at her. Now, she watched as Captain Riker and Commander Data entered her quarters. It was the first visit for both of them.

"Madam Guinan, it is kind of you to invite us to your quarters." Data looked about the room with avid interest, internally recording the vibrant color schemes intending to incorporate them into a future artistic creation. He was fascinated by her decorative choices. They were so different from any other decorative choices on board the Enterprise.

She motioned for them to be seated. They wisely sat down.

"Yes, Guinan. It is kind of you," Riker drolly added as he looked about the room as well. It was beyond the nightmare that he had imagined. "Curious, though. I could never find your quarters listed in my ship's data base."

Data helpfully piped up, "Captain, that is because they are not listed under the appellation of 'Guinan'."

"Why not?" Riker sounded grumpy.

"When Madam Guinan originally came aboard the Enterprise, the then-Captain Picard asked me to find her suitable quarters. Guinan picked out storage units on deck fifteen. And converted them."

"And you never changed their designation in the ship's computer, Mr. Data?" Riker tried not to reveal his irritation at this bit of news.

"I was ordered not to do so by Captain Picard," Data explained, wondering why this information seemed to be upsetting his brand-new commanding officer.

"Well, do so, now," Riker ordered.

"Good lord, you are turning into such a spoilsport with that millstone of a fourth pip around your neck, Will," Guinan observed as she handed the man and the android two of the drinks she had poured. "Don't do it, Data. It's safer for me not to be identified."

Riker considered Guinan's words, and decided to table the name change for now. Jean-Luc must have had a reason…

Guinan smiled at him as if she already knew his decision. The new captain didn't like that thought at all. No one should be second-guessing the captain.

Then Will Riker took a swig of his drink, gasped, choked, almost dropped the tumbler, and they strangled out the words, "What is this stuff?"

Data looked down into his tumbler, inspecting it. He sniffed it. And then he tasted it. "Captain, it is a balanced mixture of ethyl alcohol produced from the solanum tuberosum, with a sucrose fluid blended with two percent acetic acid… And there are elements that I cannot identify." Data sounded surprised. There wasn't much that he couldn't identify.

Guinan interrupted him. "Data, this is Kickapoo Joy Juice. No need to know more."

"A drink indigenous to a Native American Indian tribe?" Data asked, puzzled by the libation's name.

"Oh, is that where it came from?" Guinan took a gulp of the drink herself. She didn't gasp. "An ensign I once knew gave me the recipe. Of course, he is an admiral now, and prefers to mix the recipe with synthehol vodka instead of home brewing the real thing."

"You've a still on board my ship?" Riker quickly observed.

"Don't be a silly boy," was Guinan's quicker response.

Captain Riker duly noted that she had not exactly answered his question. So he wasn't going to bother to inform her when he would send security to look for her alleged still.

Riker took another sip of his drink. It did grow on one… "Is this why you invited us here? To drink this stuff?" Riker had recovered his voice.

"No." Guinan's smile was peculiar.

Now, Riker was nervous.

She finished off her drink, poured some more of it into her tumbler and then announced, "It's time that I told you the rules, Gentlemen. Explained them."

"Rules?" Data pondered her words, looked over at his captain who shook his head, and then asked, "What rules, Madam Guinan?"

Her stare drilled into Riker. "You want to be captain?"

"I already am." The captain of the Enterprise was beginning to sound a bit testy.

"Let me rephrase that, Will. Do you want to remain as captain?" she calmly asked, as if her captain's perturbation meant nothing to her.

"Madam Guinan," Data interjected, "Captain Riker is captain of the Enterprise." Even Data had detected Captain Riker's annoyance.

She glared at both of them.

"Yes," Will finally admitted. Will studied Guinan, wondering what her game was. "I suppose that you are going to tell me what it is that I have to do in order to remain as captain of the Enterprise?"

"Yup." Guinan drained her drink.

Will waited for a while until Guinan stopped her coughing. "So?"

"I'll make the same deal with you that I made with every other captain of the Enterprise."

"And that is?"

"Heed my advice, Will, when I give it. Or else." She saw the stubborn look forming on her new captain's face. "And yes, I've already told you this. I just wanted to emphasize my point. And to remind you that I don't give advice too often. But when I do, you had better pay attention."

He considered her words, the help she'd proffered during the Borg attacks, and remembered Jean-Luc Picard's absolute faith in the lady. "I promise that I will consider your advice, Guinan, whenever you offer it. I already have."

"Good. Now that this is understood, I should tell you what happens to captains who don't."

Cold chills of foreboding ran down Riker's spine, as Data naively asked, "And that is?"

"I marry them." She relished the expression on Will Riker's face.


	26. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL - FOR NOW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last days of the P/C honeymoon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. So here it is - the final chapter. It's hard to say farewell to something that I enjoyed writing so much. So, I'm not going to. Sometime this fall, I'll start posting the sequel tentatively entitled 'Re-attached'. I also want to thank everyone for their kind reviews. I've appreciated the comments and the advice that's been given. And I actually followed it on occasion. It's really nice to know that there still are TNG fans out there . And that it is not just a few people but a lot of readers. Live long and prosper.

CHAPTER 26: ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL - FOR NOW

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly was truly surprised when Jean-Luc suggested that they spend the night at their current port-o-call, Sarona VII.

"I've already made the reservations," he announced as he picked up the medium-sized duffel they would share for such a short lay over.

When they'd gone to Ogus II for three days and nights, he'd had transported down several crates of stuff. Beverly had been glad that he'd included a floating mattress for cave floors were as hard as she'd remembered them to be from prior experiences. Jean-Luc had enjoyed their short stay there. He'd found a few interesting artifacts. And she had enjoyed discovering a side to Jean-Luc that she had only suspected had existed. He was a very passionate man about so many, many things…

She had been surprised however, when Jean-Luc had suggested a night on Sarona VII. She wasn't sure how to classify her memories from her lone visit there so many years ago. The ghost of Jack Crusher was most definitely haunting both of them here.

He noticed her hesitancy. "Don't you wish to go, mon coeur? We do not have to…"

"We'll go," she decided. "There are some matters that we should lay to rest."

He nodded as he tapped open their door, offering her his hand as they walked toward the turbolift to the transporter rooms. He understood her hesitancy. He rather felt the same too.

She wasn't that surprised when they materialized in a hotel room at the Blue Parrot. In fact, she was pretty certain that it was the exact same suite he'd rented the last time they'd been on Sarona VII. From what she could tell, nothing had changed. It was all bronze and rust and amber in design. And there still was a private, high walled garden patio.

"Why don't I change, and you can meet me in the bar in say, an hour?" Beverly suggested after looking about for a few minutes.

He chuckled. "Promise me that you won't flip any Nausicaans if you arrive before I do."

"Let's just say that I promise to try not to…"

He left the room, mumbling something about having to do something.

Fifty-five minutes later, Beverly inspected her image in the cheval mirror in the bedroom. She was wearing a strapless copper silk dress with a flowing skirt that flirted about her ruby high heels. The dress had a few indiscreet thigh-high slits to the skirt that only revealed themselves when she moved. She was wearing about her neck a pure gold torque that was a copy of something Jean-Luc had once discovered in a proto-Vulcan dig and had been his wedding gift to her aside from the Picard family jewels. The torque with cabochon black opal ends was the only dramatic touch that this dress needed. Her hair was curling about her shoulders in a riotous cascade. Her make-up was definitely on the theatrical side and expertly applied. She also had added some of Jean-Luc's favorite perfume to her wrists, neck and bosom. She was confident that she was ready to handle any plans that her husband might have made.

Her copper skirts swished as she walked through the hotel toward the Blue Parrot's main entrance. She was pleased by the sound that the fabric made. It cause her to add a slightly exaggerated sway to her hips as she walked through the front door of the establishment. Her lips were Jean-Luc's favorite color of pouty red. She shaped them into a confident smile. Beverly knew that she looked good. And, even more importantly, she felt good. In fact, she felt better than she had in years. Having a loving husband could do that to a woman.

The Blue Parrot was as she vividly remembered. It was still a rowdy, seamy den of iniquity. Fortunately, there wasn't a Cardassian in sight. But the long bar under the elevated nude dancers did have Nausicaans. Considering the number of Nausicaans standing at the bar, she idly wondered if the Nausicaans lived there.

Then she saw him standing there, in the corner by a café table. He was standing just where he'd been standing, all those years ago. He was dressed in a soft blue shirt with flowing sleeves and matching slacks; Beverly decided that her husband looked absolutely delicious. She licked her lips. A carafe and two large red wine glasses were waiting on the table. But she only had eyes for her lover. Their gazes locked. He slightly smiled. And she bestowed upon him her most loving, how much she wanted him smile. And then, she let the deviltry in her soul flow through, offering him an unmistakable naughty invitation that only he would recognize. They'd been lovers long enough now, to have their own passionate, silent language.

Insistent importuning from predatory males began to grow louder. A portion of her ego was pleased that she still had it, as she half-listened to the number of credits being offered grow in size as the males of several species tried to entice her company.

But she only had eyes for her lover.

A familiar arm slipped about her waist. It was the proper arm. "Mon coeur, I'm sorry that I was detained."

She turned into her husband's embrace, resting her hands against his genetian blue silk clad shoulders. Beverly had been surprised to learn that her husband had such a sybaritic side to his nature. He actually went out and purchased silk shirts for himself. And she most definitely approved of this new shirt.

"Shall we dance?" she suggested.

A moment later, he was skillfully moving her about the dance floor, guiding her to some sort of samba beat. She was delighted by his improving dancing skills. There might come a time when Jean-Luc might even admit liking to dance with her.

They danced through several numbers, for Beverly really did not feel inclined to start a brawl this night. They danced slow numbers. Fast numbers. Seductive numbers And Jean-Luc danced them all with his bride. After the fifth number, she guided him back to their café table and sat down. She needed to catch her breath.

Beverly picked up her wine goblet and tasted what her husband had poured into it. She didn't recognize the wine, but it tasted rather good.

"It's an Aldebaran form of sangria," her husband explained as he translated her questioning look.

She crossed her legs. The provocative slits to the dress allowed most of her skirt to fall away, revealing her dancer's legs in all of their silk hose-sheathed glory. Her husband's eyes widened as he thought he detected the snaps to a garter belt, high up on her thigh. Then he observed how many others in the bar were noticing his wife's legs too.

Abruptly he stood, grabbing the carafe and his glass.

"You're not going to carry me?" she purred.

He eyed her, trying to judge her mood. "I will if you wish it."

She stood. And linked her arm through his. "Later, then." She glanced about the bar noticing the growing number of ogling observers. "Right now, I'd like to go into the garden. Maybe even find a dark corner on your patio." She dramatically sighed as he guided her through the open doors to the communal patio and beyond into the tropical gardens. "I've ordered dinner through room service. It should be there by now." On his questioning look for Beverly decided that he most definitely was not in the mood for food at the moment, especially once she glanced down and saw the condition of his body. She added, "Something that will keep in case we don't get around to eating right away."

He nodded. "I had never quite realized how well you manage things, Beverly. I am really coming to appreciate it."

Beverly slid her hand down from her husband's arm to now caress his derriere. Instead of protesting that someone might see, Jean-Luc placed the palm of his hand in a similar position on her behind. And squeezed.

A few minutes later in the privacy of their own solitary patio, Beverly decided that her husband was most definitely an ass person. And a leg man. And now, he was demonstrating a definite fondness for her breasts as well…

A few minutes after this she was unzipping what needed to be unzipped, and then stunned him with what her lips could do. After a few moments of this bliss, he pulled his bride back up into his arms, and then let her straddle him, as he pushed against the back to the chaise lounge. He was pleased to discover that his bride was wearing one of her bachelorette gifts. She mounted him. Their loving was swift. And exquisite.

"That was fun," he observed, when he regained his breath, after guiding his bride to rest by his side.

She stilled. "Fun? The great Jean-Luc Picard is actually admitting to having fun during our lovemaking? Imagine that!" She softly hit his shoulder. "What took you so long to notice?"

He was confused by Beverly's sudden shift in moods. He hesitantly answered her. "I'm not sure…"

"Oh, Jean-Luc," she laughed as she hugged him, pressing her now bared breasts into his now shirt-free chest. "My darling, you're learning." She caressed his cheek most lovingly with her fingers. "You're finally learning that life - and our lovemaking - can be fun." She thought of the Borg, Cardassians and the many years of his life when there had been no fun. She was determined to make it up to him.

He opened his mouth in protest when the light suddenly dawned. Ever since he'd become Beverly's lover, he had been having fun - lots of it. Granted their lovemaking had been passionate and serious, and at times, especially after their marriage vows, it had even approached the sacred. But through all of it, he now began to understand that Beverly had been teaching him how to play too. Beverly wasn't just his wife. And his lover. And his best friend. She was also his playmate for life. And he was stunned to realize just how much he'd needed this in his life too. A playmate had been missing from his life since his studious childhood. He had not even realized that it had been missing from his life until she had showed him what it was to really have one. She was making him into a better man - and a much happier man.

One look into her eyes told him that she understood this self-revelation.

Beverly rose to her feet, kicked off her remaining high heel, and tugged her husband into a standing position.

"Come, my love. Let's finish undressing. We'll eat. And then repeat what we've just done. That should finally bury any ghosts that might remain."

He reached down and picked up his discarded pants, fumbling about a pocket for a moment. "I meant to give this to you earlier." He handed her a crumpled, copper colored silk shawl.

Beverly gasped. "It's mine. From…"

He nodded; tears were beginning to glint - in both their eyes.

"You kept it," she whispered, awed by his action.

"It was all that I had of you - could claim of you," he confessed, finally revealing to her the absolute true depth of his adoration.

She bowed her head into his comforting shoulders, overcome by the complexity of his emotions for her. She had suspected, but never truly guessed the extent of his feelings for her. From so long ago, until now…She beheld him in awe.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her into their suite, nuzzling her hair as he carried her. "What? No protests about my lifting you?"

She just snuffled into his neck, refusing to let him go even after he had every so gently placed her on their bed. She was being overwhelmed by her feelings.

Reaching down, he caressed her face, lifting her chin so that she would face him.

"Beverly…" His voice was low. Concerned. Guilt-ridden…

"Jack would have approved, you know," she whispered seeking to ease his conscience, even as more tears welled in her eyes. She touched his face. "He loved us."

"I know. And we both loved him in our own way." He ruefully smiled as her tender concern eased his heart. "Jack was a lusty soul."

She stilled. "How would you know?" She thought for a moment. "Shore leave?"

He nodded. Then added, reassuringly, "But before he met you."

"And afterwards, Jack just stopped lusting?"

"Beverly, after he met you, no one else mattered to Jack. When he wasn't with you, he talked about you. Incessantly. I got to know you too well before I'd ever even met you in person, from all of Jack's ramblings."

"I'd say that you'd done a pretty good job of introducing yourself in that garden," Beverly weakly giggled. "You literally did sweep me off my feet. I found it… disconcerting." She looked away for a moment. "I didn't know it was possible to fall in love like that. So swiftly. So completely. So gloriously. I never even suspected that I could be like that."

"Neither did I," he softly stated. They were silent for a long moment, just content to appreciate the comfort of each other's presence. "You were conflicted. We both were - especially when I finally figured out your identity." He released her, slowly sitting up, giving her a little space. "We have suffered a great deal for our love, Beverly." Memories of his bleak years surfaced for a moment. He heartfully prayed that he'd never see the like again. "Hopefully, it's all in the past now."

"Suffered? I had to live with the knowledge that I loved another man besides Jack. I deluded myself now and then, that it was just an infatuation - the one that got away." He wiped a tear away from her cheek. "And then you'd waltz back into my life, usually with Jack by your side. And between the bouts of guilt, I'd find myself wishing that you…"

"Don't say it, Beverly. For I wished it too. Often. Yet still you were the wife of my best friend. I was damned…"

"We really screwed ourselves, didn't we?" She weakly laughed even as she clutched at him.

He nodded. "Yes. We did. I'd like to think that if I'd met you even a day earlier, I'd have done something about it."

Her smile was sad. "But the reality is neither one of us were ready for each other…" She looked away from him. "I needed Jack." She looked back at him bestowing on him her sympathy. "And you needed your captain's chair."

They were silent again for a long time, each reviewing their past and trying to place it into context with the other's version.

She finally sat up and placed her arms around her husband's shoulders, hugging him. "We wouldn't be the people we are today, if our lives hadn't happened the way it did. I will always miss Jack. But loving him eventually brought you into my arms. And for that, I will always be grateful."

He accepted her words, even as he did understand them. If they hadn't gone through their trials, would they even love each other today? If they'd acted on their love all those years ago, wouldn't the guilt have destroyed them by now?

As if she comprehended the direction of his thoughts, Beverly added, "You always were and always will be an honorable man, Jean-Luc. Jack knew this. Which is why he trusted you with me. And what we've done. And the way that we've done it…"

"…was more than honorable." Jean-Luc started laughing. "I think that Jack would probably curse me, telling me that I was a damned fool to take so long to actually admit to loving you, mon coeur."

"Darling, I thought that you were a bloody fool for taking so long, too. And you don't even want to know what Deanna thought about us - and our very unique and complex relationship."

He laughed again. "I can only guess. Lwaxana even once called me 'repressed' when it came to you." He raised his hand to stop her questioning. "You don't really want to know - ever."

Beverly quickly looked away. She didn't want to make a comment about that "r" word.

"Be-veh-ly," he warned. For he sensed something.

"Well…Much as I hate to say it, when you returned from Risa after meeting Vash, you were more unrepressed, shall we say?"

He glared for a moment, and then had to laugh. "Yes. Vash did have her moments."

"And uses. With you," Beverly helpfully added.

"Be-veh-ly…" he warned again.

She laughed. "At the time, in a weird sort of way, I was grateful. In fact your entire senior staff was grateful."

"Beverly!" He sounded insulted.

"Stuff it," she informed her lover. "You were always a grouch when you were frustrated - or when Guinan wasn't on board."

"Beverly, about Guinan…"

She placed a silencing finger against his lips. "I know that after we became lovers, you never returned to her as a lover. Still, you did have intimate conversations with her…"

"Guinan's always known my heart and soul, Beverly."

"I hope that one day, I'll know you that well as well."

"I think that you already do, mon coeur."

Beverly fell back against their rust colored, gold and silver embroidered bed spread. She didn't realize what a sultry picture she made with the dishabille of her copper silk dress and her splendid red hair curling about.

But Jean-Luc did. How quickly she could stir his desire. He was finally learning to treasure these moments as the gifts that they were. After so many years of famine, to now be able to feast at the altar of love without constraint was still a heady realization for him. Her eroticism rocked him even as she seemingly innocently lay there. Her breathing was calm. But her eyes were devouring him. He bent over to place a soft, needy kiss on her lips.

Beverly trailed a hand through the shortness of his hair about his neck. Kissing his head, nuzzling his neck, placing little licks here and there, all were working their magic towards arousing him again. She loved him. And there wasn't anything that she wouldn't do for him; he had but only to ask.

Now her beloved was doing his best to remove the remains of her dress. He'd concentrate on her garter belt and stockings in a little while.

"I love you in copper…" he whispered.

"You have. Often," she mischievously replied. He stopped his stroking and considered her words. "Our very first time," she listed. "Our very first real time," she added.

"I can recall a number of diplomatic functions where you showed up in a copper colored gown."

"Yes, even then, I knew that you liked me in copper."

He thought for a moment. Considered her choices. Puzzled, he raised his head from her breast. "Then why pink?"

"What?" She didn't follow his train of thought.

"Our wedding. Why the pink color scheme?"

She laughed even as she wiggled the remains of her dress past her hips. She kicked the fabric away, so that other than her stockings, she was almost completely nude.

He appreciated her cooperation.

"Jack."

"What?"

"Jack thought that pink was my favorite color."

"Of course it is," he paused, "isn't it?"

"On our first date, Jack brought me pink orchids. Naturally, because they were orchids, I became excited about the color. Pink is a fairly rare color for Aurelian orchids. What I didn't realize was that I was establishing in Jack's mind that pink was also my favorite color. Remember the pink lilacs?"

"Yes, you were so beautiful standing there with Wesley in your arms…." Jean-Luc reminisced.

"Precisely. And once Jack got something into his head…"

"He never let it go," Picard observed. "But that still doesn't explain as to why everyone was in pink at our wedding."

"Jack thought that pink was my favorite color. And because Jack thought it, you thought it too. KesPrytt."

"What?" He considered her words. "I hadn't realized…"

"I really didn't mind, Jean-Luc. The fact that I look good in pink was a mitigating factor. And Deanna does look amazing in rose."

He considered her words. He blushed at how quickly he had assumed certain things about her. And then he apologized. "I'm sorry if you felt pressured to fulfill my expectations, Beverly. I had hoped that our wedding ceremony would have been about both of our wishes."

"Oh, Jean-Luc, it was. The important thing is that I felt beautiful on our wedding day. And the color of my dress had nothing to do with it for I was marrying the man I love. And I knew that you were marrying me because you loved me, too. And that is the only thing that really matters in this universe of ours."

She reached down to run her fingers across his bare chest.

He stayed her hand. "Mon coeur, just for the record, what is your favorite color?"

"It depends upon my mood," she saucily replied.

He nipped her captured fingertip.

She shivered. "Oh, all right. Believe it or not - I like blue. All shades. I sometimes think that's why I joined Starfleet Medical - so I could wear blue."

"So noted." He moved to hold her closer in his arms.

She stayed him. "Well it's your turn to confess. And please don't tell me that your favorite color is command red."

He laughed at this, for her guess was close to the mark. "You like blue. I like red." His fingers played with her hair. "Especially glorious flaming red hair streaked with gold…"

The way he nibbled her neck she found to be rather pleasing. "I always did like you in your red suede jacket…," she conceded.

He licked then nipped her clavicle for a moment before he lifted his head. "Mind you, I find some colors of pink to be most enticing." With this, he lowered his head to kiss her breasts for a while. "Delicious…" he whispered.

"I concede your point," she sighed as the pleasure rolled through her veins.

"Points," he teased as he began a more thorough exploration of her body.

A long time later, Jean-Luc listened to his bride gently snore. And he reveled in the sound. It had been quite a night - both emotionally and physically. Clearing the air about Jack had been a cathartic event for both of them. There was a new sense of liberation added to their lovemaking that had been missing before. Jean-Luc decided that he liked the way this felt.

Replete. Stretching from his toes to his fingertips, he decided that he felt replete. What a perfect word. For it accurately described his current state of contentment. After they'd made love on top of the counterpane, Beverly had persuaded him to take a bubble bath with her. This was followed by a definitely sybaritic picnic on the patio where they only wore the short red robes that the hotel had provided. And then they'd embraced each other, resting on the chaise lounge, just looking at the stars for quite a while.

Peace. He felt that too now. And finally decided that by marrying Beverly he had made the right choice. He could face the future now with no regrets other than the Enterprise.

Eventually they'd returned to the bedroom for a more conventional bout of making love. After which, Beverly promptly fell asleep. Jean-Luc marveled at her ability to do so. It must have been a skill she'd acquired during her long years of having to be on call as a doctor.

Still, he did not doubt that soon he'd be sleeping in the arms of his love, sharing her with Morpheus. He actually felt tired. Righteously so. He rolled over to spoon with Beverly. She automatically snuggled closer to him. As he drifted off, he decided that this was the perfect honeymoon.

Hours later, something tickled. Forcing open an eyelid, he observed long, silken strands of red trying to tickle his nose. "Be gone, wench. I'm sleeping," he announced.

"Wanna bet?" she whispered against his ear. She took it slow and easy with him, as his body belied his words. Passion's fire was fine and dandy. But there was a lot to be said for slow and comfortable. If asked to choose between the two, Beverly did not think that she could at this moment as she cried out her release against her husband's lips.

This was most definitely becoming a legendary honeymoon, he decided as he drifted back to sleep.

Beverly moved closer to her love. At this moment, she was so content with her lot in life, she could not even imagine the possibility of a greater joy than this, to sleep in the arms of Jean-Luc Picard.

A few days later, they were disembarking from the cruise ship to start the final part of their honeymoon - a week on Risa.

Of course their honeymoon suite was luxurious. And it was surprisingly tastefully decorated considering that the natural condition on Risa was anything but tasteful.

The newly married couple stood in the center of their suite, taking in the amber decorated ambiance, the spectacular view of a sunset from their balcony overlooking an ocean, and a credenza laden with more baskets of food, wine, and, of course, Lwaxana's wedding present, Jean-Luc could only think of one thing.

"Mon coeur…"

"Yes, my love?"

"Would you terribly mind if we just, er…"

"I'm ready to fall asleep on my feet, too."

"You're a treasure, mon coeur. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Jean-Luc, if I actually told you what you did, we wouldn't get any sleep - again.'

He wearily chuckled. Beverly had a way with words - especially when it came to arousing his libido. But not tonight. He stepped over to the bed to turn down the covers. And then sat on the edge wondering if he had the strength to do anything more.

Beverly countered with consulting a terminal and informing one and all that they were not to be disturbed. Sighing, it only took her a few minutes to skip all of her usual night time routines, and simply slip into a sky blue nightgown and join her already dozing husband on the bed.

Hours later they'd actually get under the covers.

And it was only as the dawn approached that Jean-Luc would get around to slipping off his clothes. He was beginning to enjoy sleeping in the nude with Beverly. Though for this particular dawn, sleeping was all that he planned to do.

It took them another day before their bodies began to acclimate to this new time schedule and planet side location.

Jean-Luc was the first to rise. And when he realized that Beverly truly was in a deep sleep state, he silently dressed in casual clothes, left a note, and left their suite. He strolled about the hotel's promenade and connected shopping center, recognizing that Beverly was going to find some of these stores most interesting. Eventually finding a café rather than a bar that was open at this early hour, he ordered a cup of tea, breakfast rolls and some fruit that he'd remembered enjoying from his last visit.

"You here for Jamaharon?" the very attractive, and scarcely dressed waitress asked.

Jean-Luc sighed. And then he admitted to himself that he was actually curious. "Miss, may I ask what exactly is Jamaharon?"

"You need at least one partner to find out," she suggestively replied, indicating by her body language that she was most willing to provide that service.

"I already have a partner," he stiffly informed the woman.

"It's more fun with two."

He did have to admit that the woman was persistent. And though the thought of sharing Beverly with anyone else was anathema to him, there was a part of his ego that was slightly flattered by the woman's flirting.

"I don't think so," an icy voice said from behind his back. Beverly was accustomed to staring down recalcitrant starship captains when necessary. A waitress on Risa didn't stand a chance against this lady. The woman started to back away from such a dismaying force. "I'll have what he's having," Beverly added, as the waitress retreated.

"Good morning, darling," she cheerfully stated as she sat down on a wire backed chair next to her spouse. Her cherry red sundress draped about the chair.

He decided that he liked Beverly in cherry red. And then he picked up the padd that he'd brought with him.

Beverly blinked. She dramatically sighed. "The honeymoon is already over?"

He put down his padd. "Beverly…"

She grinned. She did so adore teasing him. "I read my messages too. What do you say to ignoring the invitation from the admiralty to attend the admiral's conference here on Risa?"

"Perhaps we should go?"

"Jean-Luc, do you really think that anything of importance is going to be discussed on this planet? I think it's a safe bet that whenever an admiral's conference is scheduled on Risa, Clarion or Sarona VII, the only thing of importance is the bar, the food and friendly companions - not the conference."

He thought for a moment, then grinned. "You're right. Woody Nakamura has a fondness for pleasure planets. I'll mark his message as 'unread'. We have four days left before we depart. The admiralty will just have to wait until we get back to Earth before they start to officially plague us."

"Good." Beverly smiled at the subdued waitress as she brought them their tea and food. "There's some sort of barbeque on the beach tonight. I understand they'll be serving lots of alcoholic drinks..."

"No doubt with idiotic cutesy names...," he interjected.

She ignored him, adding, "With lots of delicious, greasy food that the doctor in me will totally deny its existence, and that there will be really loud music that will be fun to dance to…"

He interpreted her words. "What you're really trying to tell me is that you want me to wear something garish."

"Don't be silly, Jean-Luc On this planet? You don't have to wear anything. Clothing is always an option." Beverly's grin was naughty. "What do you say, Jean-Luc? I'm game if you're game."

Nudity was not an option. "I don't own a garish shirt." He tried to sound stiff and proper, but this attitude was not impressing his bride at all.

Beverly's grin only grew broader. "You will by tonight," she promised herself.

He could tell that she really wanted to go and do the 'touristy' thing. And to tell the truth, he did too. He nodded his consent.

"Good. I get to go shopping."

He grasped her hand. "But not just yet?" He stroked a finger against her palm. She sighed. He kissed her wrist. She sighed again. Then she stood, pulling him into a standing position in her arms. They went back to their suite.

About an hour later, she observed his fidgeting. Even though he hadn't said a word, she had a pretty good idea as to why he was mentally debating with himself about what to do next. "Jean-Luc, go and take your shower, and then find a nice peaceful lounge chair by the waterfall pools, and read for the next few hours. I'm going shopping, and then have a facial. With what I'm planning for tonight, you will need to conserve your strength."

His glare bespoke volumes. He'd always considered himself to be a somewhat fastidious man. It was his custom over the years, that after making love, he'd take a shower or a bath. But with Beverly, and their desires, it was not uncommon for them to make love off and on for hours. He had discovered that his wife would tease him if he took too many showers in one night, so he tried to anticipate the level of her desires. He was not always successful in guessing.

Still laughing, she left their suite.

Jean-Luc eventually found himself seated by a quiet table, on a comfortable lounge chair in a shaded corner overlooking a waterfall pool and garden, sipping a delightful fruited ice tea. Normally he preferred his iced tea plain, but the waitress had talking him into trying something different. He was glad that he did. Picking up his mystery novel, he then promptly fell asleep before the first chapter was read.

It didn't take long for Beverly to find her husband about two hours later. The staff at this Marriott had recognized them as a couple rather early on, so they were able to tell her where he was napping. She bent over and lightly kissed him before shoving him over to take up her half of the lounge chair.

He only grumbled before he rolled over onto his side to accommodate his demanding bride. It took him about half an hour to actually realize that he wasn't dreaming. That Beverly indeed was in his arms, reading his book. And that they were outside.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, mon coeur?"

"Promise me."

"What, Beverly?"

"That even when our honeymoon is actually over, that every now and then, well do something wild and silly and romantic. Go somewhere - if only for a few days." She softly stroked the arm that was holding her. "I don't want our honeymoon to be the only time that we're this close. I don't want the mundane life to take over our love life."

He considered her words for a while. And he understood what she was asking. "Beverly, if you find that I am forgetting, will you do your best to remind me? Perhaps kiss me? That ought to be enough of a reminder…"

She tweaked his forearm. "Oh, you… I'll hold you to your word, Jean-Luc Picard. You're stuck with an adventuresome wife who will remind you of that fact every now and then."

"Your adventuresomeness has given me nightmares in the past."

"That's because I couldn't do this to you…" She reached behind her back and caressed him.

His eyes widened as he felt what she was doing to him in public. And how his body was responding. Granted, it was somewhat secluded. And that it was Risa. But still…

"Mon coeur," he announced in the sternest voice of which he was capable at the moment. The words came out as a whisper. For Beverly was very good at seducing the sanity out of him.

She just simply stood and led him by the hand back to their suite.

Hours later, Jean-Luc looked at himself in the mirror in their suite. Beverly had bought him a shirt and matching shorts. It was a bright, command (aka tomato) red. It had an all-over space ship pattern - in turquoise, pink and lime green with bright yellow flames shooting out the backs of the space ships forming a design that was extremely garish, loud and tasteless. He knew Beverly had silently dared him to wear this shirt. Surprised that he hadn't been blinded by the shirt, he obliged. He also knew that no one who knew him would believe that he would willingly wear such a shirt without being strong-armed by his bride into it. Though he did have to admit it was a comfortable shirt. And the space ships did grow on you…

Then his bride walked by and pinched his behind. He decided that he liked the shirt. Beverly moved closer and whispered something into his ear. Maybe he could really grow to appreciate the outfit…

Beverly was wearing an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse in pink, and a long, multi-colorfully ruffled skirt, and sandals. She looked gorgeous and he told her so. And, in a weird sort of way, they were color coordinated.

With a surprising sense of anticipation, Jean-Luc permitted Beverly to lead him to the barbecue.

Beverly could tell that her husband was a bit uncertain about the barbecue. He was not a man given to such frivolous pursuits - or so he thought.

"It's hard to believe that we're leaving in a few days," she remarked as she clasped her husband's hand.

"Yes. Our honeymoon is almost over." He sounded sad at this thought.

"I think not," she teased.

"What?"

"Jean-Luc, if you think you're going to turn into a stodgy old married man set in his ways once we get back to Earth, think again." They stopped their strolling. "I like the man I married. And the man that I've discovered on our honeymoon. And I'm not letting him get away from me. If you do it right, the honeymoon will never be over between us."

"So noted." He lightly kissed her lips. "Just exactly how do you define stodgy?"

Her laughter was light, floating on the breeze. "Let's just say I am going to do my best to keep you from ever defining it."

He kissed her again. "I actually am anticipating going home, if only to see what you'll do to keep me from becoming stodgy."

She laughed again. "I'm anticipating going home too…"

They started walking again pausing once in a while to kiss. "About that 'home', Beverly…"

"Well, if the duplex is rented, we'll find some place else…"

"Actually, I have another house."

She stopped, ignoring the ambiance of the torches lighting the beach path in twilight, or the sound of exuberant dance music from off in the distance. "Two houses, Jean-Luc? How could you forget that you own two houses?"

"I was a cadet." He grinned as if that was explanation enough. "I actually really read the reports I'd been getting from Boothby and the lawyers a few nights ago, for I'd realized that the rent payments were in excess of anything that a duplex might generate. That's when I remembered once going to Aunt Adele's other house. Once I double checked everything I realized that I do indeed have another house. And, we both have been there."

"Really?"

"Yes. For the past few years it was leased to the Nagosian Consulate. It was their embassy."

Beverly froze. "That boring diplomatic party that you dragged me to the last time we were on Earth?"

He chuckled. "Yes. Now I know why the Nagosians were so polite to me. I was their landlord."

"Are you trying to tell me that the house with all of its gorgeous gardens…"

"Yes. The Nagosians moved out and into their new embassy about eight months ago. According to Boothby, Marie and Mildred have tried to set things right about the house. It needs some restoring…"

Beverly ignored his words about the house. "Jean-Luc, it had a orchid hot house!" Her voice rose with excitement. "I remember seeing some very rare examples…"

"Yes, so it does, Beverly." He was amused about what Beverly found to be of importance about their proposed new residence.

"Oh, Jean-Luc, I've always wanted a hot house!" She sounded thrilled.

Deciding not to go for the obvious double entendre, Jean-Luc just stood there as Beverly hugged him with obvious enthusiasm - for orchids. Smiling when she released him, they proceeded up the path toward the ocean side party.

The food was indeed greasy. And absolutely delicious. A lot of the grilled fruit was covered in rum - a lot of rum. Jean-Luc found himself feeding little morsels to his lover with his fingers. For they were reclining together on a low, wide sedan lounge. As Beverly peeled him a Risian grape, Jean-Luc began to comprehend why forms of the Terran Roman banquet style of dining al fresco known by so many different names on so many different planets, was so very popular. And why the Romans had first done it so many thousands of years ago. Aside from the sensual aspects, it was also fun.

Beverly kept ordering them some sort of drink called a 'fizzy'. She never told him that the real name of their libation was 'pon farr fizzy'. In spite of the sweet and fizzy nature to the alcohol, he rather liked the drink by the second refill.

And then the dancing started. It took Beverly a lot of persuading - and a fourth drink - to get Jean-Luc to dance with her in some kind of conga line. The steps didn't matter. The only thing that did matter was Jean-Luc clutching his wife's waist from behind, trying to learn the steps even as he found himself ogling his wife's derrière as they danced. The way she wiggled… He was truly enjoying himself. And judging by the passionate kisses that Beverly would steal every now and then, Beverly was having a good time too.

The music changed. Beverly shoved him down into the sand, and then began to dance around him - only for him. Her voluminous skirts twirled as she danced with abandon. She clicked her fingers, kicked up her heels and clapped her hands to the seductive beats of the music. Her laughter was infectious as she focused her gaze only on her husband. She was thoroughly enjoying herself. And Jean-Luc was experiencing one of his favorite fantasies from long ago - Beverly dancing for him alone. He thought that he'd never been so happy in all of his life… Eventually she leaned over to pull him into her arms for such joy in dancing and in life, must be shared. "I love you," she announced to the universe as she guided her husband about. "I love you," was his heartfelt, gasping response.

From a distance on their balcony, Alynna and Woody were watching. Woody handed Alynna another Pon Farr Fizzy.

"I've never seen Captain Jean-Luc Picard behave like that," Alynna observed, somewhat enviously, as she sipped her second drink.

"He never has. Not even when Jack was alive."

"Beverly is good for him…" Alynna announced knowing that Woody would not disagree.

They watched as Beverly kissed her husband in public. His response was to pick her up and twirl her about before pulling her into passion's embrace. A moment later they were dancing about in each other's arms.

Much to Woody's amusement, Beverly raise her arm high in the air and waved her fingers in their direction. Apparently, she had sighted them. What really surprised him was when Jean-Luc stopped, put his bride down on the sand, turned and bowed in their direction, and then picked his bride back up.

Beverly kissed him passionately. And he returned the favor before walking on carrying his love in his arms.

Woody made sure his tricorder was working. He could hardly wait for the next 'admiral's only' poker game.

Alynna watched the loving couple enter their hotel. Sighing dramatically, Alynna turned to her companion, took away his tricorder, and announced, "Now that is how you do Jamaharon…"

The End.


End file.
